#sorry this is so late my phone was dead for several hours

[pictureofdoriaaaaaangay]

happy St Mark's Eve, everyone <333

[lloydskywalkers]

drywall

went to go work on raising hell and ended up missing Skylor, so!! I will always have so many emotions about s8/9 and the aftermath of it, here's another gallon of them.

Two months after they’ve taken back the city and the street lights are finally starting to work again, Lloyd shows up at the restaurant an hour past closing time, sporting a spectacular bruise and enough blood across his gi to make the Ninjago City Blood Drive team’s day. 

“Hi, Sky.” Lloyd waltzes — or attempts to, it’s more of a stumbling collapse — right in as if nothing’s amiss in the slightest. “Sorry, I’m, uh. Was in the neighborhood and I wasn’ sure…where else t’ go.”

Skylor, still frozen over a stained tabletop with her dishtowel in hand, stares at him. 

All things considered, she should be fully prepared for something like this. It should practically be in her restaurant’s training manual, that at some point you’ll end up confronted with a bloody, half-dead ninja in your door. But given how slow the past few weeks have been, coupled with the sheer exhaustion of dealing with the lunch rush and the dinner rush and the late-night somewhat-inebriated people rush, her guard is apparently down enough to leave her reacting with a simple, useless, “Oh god.”

“Tha’s my grandfather,” Lloyd says. There’s blood at the corner of his mouth — coupled with the bruising, Skylor thinks (hopes) it’s simply from split skin or a bitten cheek, instead of crippling internal bleeding. 

Crippling internal bleeding is enough of a concern to finally spur her into action, dropping her towel and rushing over to help Lloyd finish stumbling through the door. She spares a moment of thanks, that there’s even a door at all — repairs in the city have been slow, since Harumi’s brief reign of terror, and the insurance provider is still holding out on her. 

But the door was a good thing to prioritize, she thinks, bolting it firmly behind them. 

“Sorry, again,” Lloyd murmurs. His jaw is working in the tight way it does when he’s biting back pain, his bottom lip bruised and bleeding. Skylor’s stomach twists. 

You’d think, after all she’s been through, she’d be more accustomed to seeing the people she cares about in pain. That she’d be desensitized enough, to fight back the aching nausea and the gnawing desire to look away. 

Or maybe she’s just a coward. That would track, she thinks. 

“Shush,” she says instead, maneuvering Lloyd further into one of the nicer booths, careful of the blood that’s…everywhere. “What did you do to yourself this time, huh?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lloyd grumbles, his voice steadier now that he’s sitting down. Unfortunately, he’s only paler under the yellowy restaurant lights, and the blood looks about ten times worse. “I just…slipped. A bit.”

Slipped. Skylor could smack him, if he wasn’t already hurt. 

“Lemme see, then.” She bends down to where she can tug the folds of his gi back, trying to trace the blood to a source. She finally finds it — an ugly wound in his left shoulder, several long gashes across his forearm. A knife, maybe. Possibly a sword, but it looks close-up and quick. It’d need to have been quick, for whoever was wielding it to land this many hits. 

Or Lloyd would have to be sloppy. 

Lloyd gives a stifled, shuddery exhale, a dangerous preamble to tears. Skylor pauses, just for a moment, and deliberates. 

She’s got Nya’s number, carefully keyed into her phone ever since she and Kai started visiting the noodle house. There’s no doubt in her mind that she’d want to know about this — and there’s less doubt that Kai would want to know. if anything, she’s surprised he hasn’t burst through the restaurant doors already, summoned by whatever sixth sense he has that goes off when Lloyd’s in danger. 

But Skylor also knows there’s got to be a reason that Lloyd came here, despite his claims. Just as there’s probably a reason he didn’t call Kai or Nya, or any of the others. 

And perhaps she feels just a little proud, that Lloyd’s chosen her to come to. 

It’s quickly lost in the blood that coats her hands as she begins patching the wound in his shoulder, but the feeling’s there nonetheless. 

It’s a nice feeling, being relied on. Being trusted. 

“Who got you this bad?”

She speaks up mostly to break the quiet. Lloyd isn’t quite like Kai, who likes talking simply to fill a space, but she knows he isn’t fond of silence, either. It’s one of the things they share in common. 

“No one.” Lloyd sucks in a breath as she draws the bandage tight across his shoulder, wrapping it beneath his arm and back over. His eyes close briefly as she ties it off, forehead scrunching up, before he lets out another shuddery exhale. “Some guy, uh — guy on the way home, near the subway. I had answered a call earlier, and I guess — ow, hey—” 

“Sorry,” Skylor winces, as she finishes dumping antiseptic across the slashes on his arm. “It hurts less if you aren’t expecting it.”

“That’s a lie,” Lloyd says, pointedly. 

She shrugs. “So, random subway mugger?”

Lloyd looks away, his cheeks darkening. It’s a relief, to see any color in his face at all. “Sort of.”

He leaves it at that, lapsing back into silence. Skylor looks down, focusing on the butterfly stitches she’s placing across his arm. Were it anyone else, she’d have panicked for actual stitches, but Lloyd heals with an uncanny quickness. She remembers Nya complaining about it, back during the Resistance — how Lloyd threw a fit when his skin healed over the stitches, and they’d had to cut him open all over again. 

She’d probably throw a fit of her own, to be fair. 

“Well, if you see him,” she says, reaching for the roll of bandages. “Point him out. I could use a punching bag.”

Lloyd’s lips quirk, a ghost of a smile. 

“Thank you.”

It’s quiet enough she might’ve missed it, if they were any further apart. Skylor doesn’t miss the meaning, either. She simply shakes her head, wrapping another layer around his arm. 

“I’m just glad you came to someone,” she says. “Instead of half-assing it yourself.”

Lloyd’s fingers twitch. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh-huh.”

She can’t pretend she doesn’t understand. Her childhood is filled with fun little memories of patching herself together, hiding wounds from Clouse or her father in an attempt to convince them she was better than she was.

Not that the people Lloyd is hiding from are anything remotely like her father, of course, but there’s an overlap between people you fear and people you love, and trying to convince them you’re stronger than you are. 

“That should do it,” she nods to herself, surveying her work. She feels unusually proud of herself — Skylor’s never really stayed with a team long enough to have many chances to patch people up. It’s rarer that people are so open to her touching them, once they’ve learned what her power is. The ninja are an exceedingly kind exception, but it still makes her feel warm, being given this kind of trust. 

She glances up, eyeing her patient. Lloyd’s still pale, but it’s far better than the ashy color from earlier anymore. “Anywhere else?”

“No.” Lloyd stares at the strip of bandages across his arms, shoulders hunched over on himself.

“I have Nya on speed dial, you know—”

“Its just a few scrapes,” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Skylor sighs. “Lemme see.”

Lloyd grumbles, but he lets her grab his arm again, wincing as she dabs antiseptic over the smaller cuts. There’s nothing serious — just a few nicks and scratches, the kind you get from eating the ground mid-fight. He’s got one uglier scrape, but it’s about as nasty as a skinned knee, and easily eclipsed by the scar it bleeds through. 

Her fingers falter. She knows this scar — she was there when Kai struggled to patch the wound it once was, back on her father’s island. It’s an ugly, jagged scar, a testament to how Kai’s hands had shook as he’d tried to be gentle. 

In hindsight, it had been a terrible moment. Kai wasn’t sure if Lloyd had picked up the wound from the underground tunnels, Chen’s cultists, or his own brief slip into the madness of the staff. Lloyd wouldn’t say where it was from, even if either of them had been much for talking. And Skylor had been an awkward, purple-scaled fixture next to them, holding the medical kit while the others planned how to kill her father. 

And yet, it was the lightest she’d ever felt. 

Skylor bites her lip. 

She’s never told Lloyd, what exactly he’d meant to her. He likely has no idea, what he’d represented when she’d first met him. 

The son of one of Ninjago’s greatest villains — and people loved him. 

Kai loved him. 

If Lloyd could overcome the hurdle of his parentage and choose to live the way he wanted, if people could look past the dark stain of his legacy and love him anyways, then maybe—

He’d been hope, when she needed it most. And Kai had lived up to that hope, taking Skylor’s half-formed, frail dream and fueling it into a blaze.

Her eyes close, briefly, and she shivers. 

“Are you okay?”

Blinking her eyes back open, she comes face to face with Lloyd’s concerned expression. She shakes her head, looking away. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Embarrassment pulls at her. “Just a bit of…aftershocks. You know.”

Lloyd frowns, clearly not knowing. “Aftershocks,” he repeats. “From…”

His eyes go wide, only for his expression to immediately crumple. “Oh.”

Skylor waves her hands. “It’s not bad,” she reassures him. “I can barely feel him — his power — anymore. Just pins and needles in my hands sometimes, that’s all. Totally…totally normal.”

She hopes. Garmadon’s power had burned, in the way bitter cold feels against your skin, so a bit of numbness is pretty decent tradeoff, if she says so herself. 

Lloyd looks down, expression shadowed and hidden. Skylor could curse herself — she knows better, than to bring up—

“Here.” Lloyd’s suddenly holding his hand out, looking at her earnestly. It’s an almost childish expression of sincerity, one that makes him look much younger — a little more like the Lloyd she met on her father’s island, who beamed when his father ruffled his hair. 

Her chest aches fiercely, and Skylor holds out her hand before she can hesitate. Lloyd takes it carefully in his own, and she watches in fascination as the low shimmer of green engulfs her fingers. Lloyd’s power is as gentle as he is — nothing like the ravaging purple storm that was his father’s. 

“Oh,” she says. “That’s nice.”

Lloyd makes a humming noise. “I’ve been practicing. H-his power doesn’t get along with mine, that much. So it kinda…makes room. For whoever’s stronger, at the moment.”

Skylor fights back a shudder. Realistically, she knows she shouldn’t feel ashamed, that Garmadon overpowered her — he’s Garmadon. The reminder of how his power felt still stings, though. 

It’s a reassurance, that Lloyd’s power is stronger now. His element, if you can even call it that, is probably the one she’s the least familiar with — she’s never tried to copy Lloyd’s power. She isn’t entirely sure if she could, or if she should. Dipping into Garmadon’s power was dangerous enough. Skylor isn’t stupid enough to pretend she has the willpower to meddle with the power of the FSM’s family much more than that. 

“It feels like cheating, kinda,” she finally says. “That fighting fuels his power. How are you supposed to fight back?”

Lloyd shrugs, letting her hand go. “You don’t. You get really good at dodging.”

Skylor leans forward, propping her chin up in her palms. “That’s stupid.”

“Well,” Lloyd’s lips twitch, just the slightest bit. “That’s Garmadon, so.”

His expression immediately fractures, and Skylor can spot the battle in his eyes as he tries to grasp for composure. Her teeth worry at her lip.

She should really call Nya, now. Or try to track down Kai’s number. Or anyone else — it’s nearly two hours past closing, the kitchen’s still a mess, and Lloyd’s blood is all over her dishrags. Lloyd himself is hardly in better shape, the ghostly pale of his skin reminding her horribly of when she first saved them from the Sons of Garmadon, and Skylor is—

Not enough. 

She ought to know that, by now.

But the fact still stands, that Lloyd came to her. A part of her clings to that, and another selfish, awful part of her, the part that festered on her father’s island for so many years, the part that still flinches beneath the weight of her last name — well. 

Misery loves company, is probably the best way to put it. 

“I should…I should probably get going,” Lloyd says, uncertainly. He doesn’t make any move to get up, though, still small and weary where he’s hunched up in her booth. 

Skylor stares at him, and thinks of sitting for hours on the edge of her father’s island, staring at the sun on the water until her eyes ached. 

“Hey,” she says, a bit breathless, twisting her fingers together. “Wanna go skip rocks?”

Quite fairly, Lloyd stares at her like she’s lost her mind. 

They end up on the rickety end of one of Ninjago City’s abandoned docks anyways, a mismatched selection of somewhat flat rocks spilling out of a Chen’s to-go bag. Lloyd’s left arm is tied up in a mangled sort of sling they fashioned from Skylor’s old sweatshirt, leaving him to turn a rock over in his right hand awkwardly. 

“So, funny thing,” he says. “I don’t, uh. I’m not very good at this.”

“That’s okay,” Skylor says, sifting through the rocks they’ve gathered. “I’m not, either.”

“Yeah?” Lloyd sounds hopeful. “I mean, you at least know the trick to it, right?”

“I don’t,” she shrugs. “I’ve never…I’ve never skipped rocks before.”

Lloyd stares at her. 

“It’s not that weird,” she huffs, fighting back the urge to hide. “I mean, I never really had the chance, but I aways thought — I grew up near the ocean, and all these lakes, so I always thought it’d be fun to, y’know, skip rocks, since I didn’t really have…anyone else, to…”

The rest of the sentence is about to turn even more humiliating, so it’s a relief when Lloyd interrupts her. 

“I haven’t either.” 

He immediately flushes. “That’s why I’m not good at it.’Cause I’ve never actually skipped rocks.” 

“Oh.” Skylor looks at their bag, then back up at him. “Well, cool. We’ll both suck, then.”

“How hard can it be, anyways?” Lloyd says, sorting through their rocks. “You just find a flat one, right?”

“Yeah,” Skylor says. “Then you sort of just, frisbee it. I think.”

“Hm.”

“You haven’t thrown a frisbee either, have you.”

“Oh, like you have.”

Skylor presses her lips together, snorting. “Was wondering when your snark was gonna show back up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you not remember half the stuff that came out of your mouth, back at the tournament?”

“You would’ve been out of your mind too, if you had to herd the guys around then — also, bold words coming from you, ooh, how dare you call me a traitor, even though it’s totally dead-on—”

“That wasn’t even close to what I said, and also—” Skylor snatches a smooth rock before Lloyd can, hefting it up. “It’s not like I was gonna admit to you all I was a traitor. That defeats the whole purpose of betraying. Lying my way out of a corner was the smart choice.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lloyd mutters, as Skylor flings her rock across the water.

They both watch as it splashes sadly, sinking instantly like, well. A rock. 

“Okay,” Skylor cringes. “That was a warm-up.”

Several warm-ups later, neither of them have made any progress whatsoever, save to torment whatever fish are hanging out on this side of Ninjago City’s harbor with relentless rock barrages. 

“This is ridiculous,” Lloyd huffs, watching as his rock all but torpedoes into the water. “What’s wrong with us, that we can’t get one stupid rock to skip?”

“Maybe it’s in the wrist?” Skylor flexes her hand, angling it one way then another. She winds ups, throws the rock out, and — nope. 

“I think we’re getting worse,” Lloyd remarks as Skylor sputters, wiping the seawater that splashed up from her face. 

She can’t help but agree. They’re down to a few rocks left, and neither of them have made any progress, much less skipped a single rock. At some point, they give up altogether, seeing who can throw their rock out the furthest instead. 

“This one’s going…” Lloyd raises his arm, closing one eye and squinting as he angles higher. He finally pauses with his hand pointing upwards toward Ninjago City. “Right through that weird oval thing on Borg Tower.” 

“Don’t hit it too hard,” Skylor says. “They just got it back up last week.”

“I’m not hitting it, it’s going through it, weren’t you listening?”

“To you? Nah. I’ve heard you suck at public speaking.”

“Wow, after you forced me into the live broadcast and everything—”

As if to emphasize his distress, Lloyd takes a running start, hurling the rock forward. They watch as it arcs across the skyline, before plummeting somewhere in the harbor. 

“So close,” Skylor murmurs. 

Lloyd flops on the ground with a dull thump, legs sprawling in front of him as he leans back on his elbows. Skylor’s makeshift sling isn’t doing much at all anymore, though it looks like he doesn’t need it to.

That, or he’s hiding pain stupidly well. Which wouldn’t be surprising, if disappointing. 

“Defeated,” he mourns. “Overthrown by rocks.”

Skylor dusts gingerly at the ground before sitting next to him. “They sure got the best of us, this time.”

“Maybe it’s a learning curve,” he says. “That or we missed, like, the optimal rock-skipping development time.”

“Mmh. Maybe we need to recruit a teacher who actually had a decent childhood.”

“If you find someone, lemme know.”

They both laugh, breathless and hollow, because they’re not much else they can say, to that. 

Lloyd sits up suddenly, pulling his knees to his chest. His arms wrap tightly around them, eyes glued forward. Instead of asking, Skylor follows his gaze to the skyline of Ninjago City, the darkened scars left behind by Garmadon and Harumi painfully pronounced this late at night. 

It couldn’t have been longer than two weeks, could it? Their rule over the city?

It feels like years.

She can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for the others — can’t imagine what it was like, ending it. 

It pains her, but Skylor doesn’t remember much of Garmadon’s defeat. She’d thrown everything she had into controlling his power, and when it had snapped back on her, ravaging through her like a cloying poison, everything had gone dark and hazy. 

It kind of sucks, because she’d done all that just to miss the most important parts, but…it is what it is.

What she does remember, besides Nya’s steady voice and Dareth’s panicked yelling, is the blazing warmth that was Lloyd carrying her.

That and his painfully bony shoulder digging into her stomach. 

“I was trying not to get us crushed,” Lloyd mutters, cheeks turning pink. “Sorry my shoulder wasn’t up to cushion-y standards.”

“And I’m trying to say thank you,” Skylor sighs. “But seriously. Put something on those bones.”

“Meh meh meh,” Lloyd mocks. There’s a lack of his usual energy in the action, the dullness to his eyes only made worse by the bruise-like circles beneath them. But it’s still very Lloyd — a flash of the friend she knows. 

“I really do mean it,” she says. “Thank you. For carrying me out of there. For saving me.”

Lloyd stares at her with dark eyes. Not as dark as they were, back when he’d lost his power, but the glow is almost entirely absent.

“You shouldn’t—” he bites off, frustrated. He tosses the rock he’s holding, up and down. “It was never a question.”

He glances at her. “Besides,” and there’s the closest she’s seen to a real smile. “You saved us first.”

Not nearly soon enough, she thinks. 

She should’ve told him, should have asked — should have let him know how it felt to watch her father fall deeper into madness, told him what it felt like to lose hope — what it meant, to move on. 

To cut ties, before they strangled you. 

“How are you,” she says, as gently as she can. Then, because gentle doesn’t always get you through the walls they build— “For real. Not how people want to hear you’re doing, or the answer you think they want. How are you.” 

Lloyd stiffens. There’s a flicker of fear in his expression, his mouth moving on instinct. 

“I’m doing okay.”

Tremors lace through his hand where he holds the rock, shuddering fingers tracing over the rough surface. 

“Okay as I can be.” He looks down, the rock slipping from his fingers as his arms wrap around himself. “I know that isn’t the answer you want, but I don’t…”

He looks back up, the lights of Ninjago City misty in his eyes.  

“I don’t know what people want me to say,” he whispers. 

Skylor wishes he’d screamed it. Wishes he’d snap, wishes he’d find the anger where it simmers inside him and turn it outwards against the world, rather than violently projecting it inwards like a masochistic missile all the time. Anything at all, instead of this hollow brokenness. 

It reminds Skylor a bit too much of—

Well. 

“I know I — things are—” Lloyd swallows. He pauses, raising his hand to scrub at an already-bloodshot eye. “Everything happened so fast. It was like — like getting hit with a bus, then another bus, then she — put the bus in reverse and ran me back over, and I never really had the chance to…to…”

“To get back up?”

Lloyd nods. He picks absently at a bloodstained patch on the leg of his gi. “And I know that’s just a stupid metaphor, but getting back up is…it’s really—”

Lloyd’s pulling threads loose now, tugging hard enough that he’s likely to start unraveling holes in his gi. 

“Can I tell you something? Something that’s not…not so good.”

“Hey, you know me.” Skylor elbows him. “I’m an expert at not-good.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a little too knowing. “You’re really not.”

And she’d turn a mirror on him, if she could. “What is it, then?”

Lloyd looks away, one unusually-sharp tooth gnawing at his lip. 

“I know my dad — my dad I used to have — he loved me. I know he did.” Lloyd sounds, rather devastatingly, like he’s trying to convince himself. “But now that he’s…now that he’s like this, and after everything that happened, I almost wish — I almost—”

He cuts off, covering his face with his hands. “Never mind.”

Skylor stays still, her gaze fixed ahead on a dark spot in the city skyline. If it were her, she’d want—

Lloyd’s voice is a muffled whisper. “I wish he’d never loved me at all.”

Skylor lets out a long, shaky breath. 

Lloyd gives a dry, horrible kind of laugh. “That’s terrible, isn’t it? It’s so selfish, it’s — I’m a horrible person, for thinking that way. But it — it hurts now, to think that — that maybe, now that I’m different — and her — that even my dad—” 

“It hurts,” she murmurs. “To lose it. To think that it’s your fault.”

Lloyd brings his arms over his head, the bandages on his left arm a stark white in the dimness as he buries his face in his knees. Curling up, as if he can make himself small enough the world will finally forget he exists. 

Skylor’s…familiar. 

But then again, is she? 

She swallows. Her father was one thing, but if — if he came back now, after she’s worked so hard to move on — at the height of his madness, what would she do? 

She’s out of her depth, as she’s always been.

But there was a reason she answered the call so fervently, a reason she followed Lloyd without hesitation. Skylor doesn’t put much stock in the Green Ninja, doesn’t put much in any kind of prophecy. But she does care, very much, about Lloyd, and she thinks that’ll take her a bit farther.

“You know.” She looks down, running her finger over their last rock. “You were one of the first people that gave me any hope that I could change. That, uh, someone could love me.”

Lloyd startles, emerging just enough that she can see the green of an eye. “Huh? Me?”

She nods. “Back on my father’s island, during the tournament. I was convinced that…that after everything I’d done, with who I was, there wasn’t a chance I’d find someone who loved me.”

Lloyd frowns, lowering his arms so he can look at her fully. “But I didn’t — Kai was the one who reached out to you. He was the one that saw you. I didn’t…I didn’t really do anything.”

“Yeah. He did. But he reached out to you, first.”

Lloyd stares at her, eyes wide. Skylor smiles at him. “You were good. No matter how bad your family had been. And it…it had been okay, for you.” 

The mistiness returns to Lloyd’s eyes as he looks back to the skyline, his lip caught tightly between his teeth. 

“We’re doing okay, right?” Skylor pulls her own knees up to her chest. “You and me. I mean, we helped, a lot. We fought back for the city. You did a lot more than me, obviously, but—”

“Don’t say that,” Lloyd sounds pained. “Don’t compare it, like I’m — I do a lot more harm than good, sometimes.”

“You don’t say that,” Skylor snaps. 

Lloyd flinches. She bows her head, staring down at her feet. 

“We’re good,” she says, hating the way her voice wobbles. “We’re different.”

It’s occurring to her, how cold it is out here on the water. She hopes Lloyd doesn’t get home with a cold, on top of everything else. 

“We’re different,” Lloyd echoes.

“Yeah.” Skylor swallows. “That has to count for something, right?”

Lloyd makes a small noise, but it isn’t one of disagreement. There’s a rustling as he reaches for the bag, then holds out their final, sad rock. 

“Wanna give it the last try?” He gives her a crooked, half smile. “Make it count?”

Her fingers close over the rough surface, cold against the warmth of his hand. 

The brightness of the sun against water on her father’s island in her eyes, Skylor flings the rock as hard as she can, far enough that it’s swallowed entirely by the harbor darkness. 

If she tries, she can imagine it skipping, just once, across the freezing waters. 

She tells herself, it counts anyways.

[shamrockqueen]

Father figure : Chapter 4

Pairing : Best Friend’s Dad Bucky (James/Mr. Barnes) x Reader

Warnings : R18, Eventual Smut, Angst, adult teenager (18 and green), taboo desires

Word count : 2294

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Masterlist

She called constantly, and you ignored her. Rebecca’s picture flashed across your phone screen throughout the day, like a storm siren alerting the whole house of impending danger. It continued to ring through your ears even when the small brick was silent, having finally been switched off. A development that hadn’t lasted very long. 

Eventually, the guilt of shutting Becky out made you crack. An already uneven and weak foundation crumbled from under your feet as you switched the phone back on, letting that little white half apple glow over the screen, and taking the next call that came through. 

After all, she was the innocent party in this increasingly strange dynamic. 

“Hello?” Your voice was low, rasped with disuse, and choked with your previously heavily shed tears. 

“Oh, my God!! Why the hell weren’t you answering your phone?!” 

Becky’s voice was sharp and louder than you’d expected, but it didn’t carry the anger you’d readied yourself to hear. It sounded so scared. 

“I needed some time to myself!” You parroted her tone unintentionally. 

“W-was it something I did or-or said? What happened?” 

You mulled over what to say, how to say it, but instead you stayed silent for a few minutes too long before finally blubbering another half-truth. 

“It wasn’t anything like that… I’ve just been feeling overwhelmed lately.” 

She didn’t answer, not right away at least. For those few minutes everything was silent, leaving dead air and the thrumming of your quickened pulse pounding in your ear as the only sound left.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me about it?” she finally said. Her voice was soft, sad, and dejected. 

It made your heart sink, and you replied with, “I’m sorry.” 

“Can we talk? In person...please.” 

“I….I don’t know about that right now.” 

“You aren’t the only one who feels overwhelmed. But, you are the only person I have to talk to.” 

Your eyes brimmed with more traitorous tears, stinging at the corners before being blinked away. 

“I should be able to visit for a little bit.” You answer weakly. 

“5-ish?” Her voice was still uncharacteristically meek, but the words tumbled from the speaker quickly. 

You sighed, now fully aware how easily you’ve been pushed from your ledge and right back into the trouble you ran away from. 

“Yes, I can be over at 5.” You said flatly, nearly melancholic, after having lost your grip on the situation.

It was already 4, which gave you both an hour to clean the evidence of emotion off each of your teary faces. Something similar you both could feel but left unseen by the other. 

The call lingered for a few seconds longer, half-baked plans still being played with before finally being left to rise on their own once the call ended. 

You thank your lucky stars that your mom was at work. The deepening scowl on her face at the insistent ringing only made everything worse. It was difficult trying to keep discipline in the house while not teetering on a need to allow you to keep your longtime and only friend. 

She’d lamented in the past your shy demeanor, wishing you’d been just a little more outgoing so as to not have been entangled in Rebecca’s unending emotional turmoil. You never judged Becky as your mother did, but as you’d grown older and even now, you knew that some things she did weren't right, but you could never bring yourself to sever ties with someone close enough to be the sibling you’d never had. 

An ongoing battle with no one winning in the end. 

For now, your journey through the house, purse packed and dirty sneakers slipped over cotton socks, was uninterrupted all the way out the front door before locking it with a quick click. 

You hopped onto your bike and soon picked up pace down the suburban road, the damp autumn air tickling your skin as you rode away. You tried to will each anxious thought into your already twisted stomach as you sped down a curve in the street. 

Finally, the house came into view, Mr. Barnes’ truck parked in its driveway. You stopped your tire with a wet squelch over rainy asphalt so as not to let your bike ram you into the back of the truck bed. 

You stood there, half balanced on one foot with your leg slung over the bike, hands still tightly gripping the handlebars. 

Your eyes were first caught on the truck, bending along the chrome edges and each tiny patch of rust. You knew that truck just as well as you knew this house, and even more so as you were learning more about the man who owned both. A man you thought, for the longest time, you knew too. 

The clatter of the door creaking open pulled you out of this trance, dragging you back to the real world once again.

You didn’t move from your spot by the truck, even as Rebecca called out from the open doorway to “come in, it’s cold.” 

You continued to hesitate, your molars grinding together until you saw her figure begin to leave the doorway of her home. You dropped your bike, letting it fall without a kickstand, and began trotting over before she could move another inch. 

When you reach the door, Becky’s arms are thrown around you in a tight embrace. You try to match that same eagerness but pale in comparison to the air on lock of Rebecca’s grip. 

When she pulled away, you took in a deep and much-needed breath, not realizing you’d been holding it until the hug was over. 

“Thank you for coming back.” She said softly. You’ve never made her so genuinely sad before, and more and more guilt began filling your belly. 

“I'm sorry for leaving.” The melodic sound of your voice danced through the house and directly to his ears. It shook every ounce of sleep out of his bones, and he shot up to sit at the edge of the couch. 

“Come in, I gotta to grab my bag.” Becky let you by as she sped back to her room. 

You stepped carefully inside but didn’t sit. You stared at your feet, not wanting to drop your eyes onto Mr. Barnes, and he did the same as he scratched the back of his head. 

Becky trotted back out as she gave her father a quick goodbye. “We’re going to get something to eat; I’ll be back later.” 

“Be safe.” He waved her off before finally getting up to leave the room. Becky seemed to seethe a little at the dismissal and trudged out of the house and into the open autumn air, with you shutting the door behind you and following her. 

The two of you ditched your bikes, choosing instead to walk through the small town looking for a destination with cheap fare. Would you grab a mediocre burger at McDonald's, a hot meal made with love at the small diner, or an overfilled soft serve at the only ice cream shop still open this late in the season? 

You both decided on junk snacks and soda at the gas station. You tried to eat your fill of Little Debbie cake and chips but ended up nibbling whatever your stomach would allow. Neither of you seemed very hungry. 

You both sat at an old bench by an empty parking lot, silently picking at your food until one of you finally broke through the thick, icy wall that formed between you. 

“Why did you run away from me?” Becky was the first to speak, asking a question that had been on her mind for days. 

“What? Becky, I told you. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just…”

“Overwhelmed.” She finished your sentence before continuing with her own. “You still didn’t tell me why. You never keep things from me when you're upset.” 

That was true, but how could you tell her about how you felt about her own father? 

You felt a small gust of wind roll over your shoulders, rustling your hair. It was followed by a stray droplet signaling the change that was to come. 

“I saw you talking to my dad in the kitchen…and you were upset.” You stared down at the cracked asphalt, the few strands of dead grass still poking through. 

You were frozen to the bench, joints and muscles locking into place as your eyes were stuck on the deep grey pits forming in the sky. Neither of you could look at the other, and you waited for her to say more. 

When you and Mr. Barnes had been talking that night, neither of you had realized when the shower cut off. But, luckily, you both had kept your voices low enough to hide the true nature of the conversation. All Becky knew was that something upset you enough to send you running into the night. 

“Was it something he said? Do you hate me now too?” Her voice broke, another onslaught of tears beginning to pour down her cheeks. Never in your life had you made Rebecca so sad. 

“What?!” You finally snap into action, wanting nothing but to comfort her. 

“I saw you guys arguing in the kitchen like my mom and him used to when they would talk about me.” She unraveled, pulling herself away from you to stand a few feet from the bench. 

Another drop of rain fell, hitting your shoulder, followed by another and another. 

“He doesn’t hate you! I don’t hate you, Becky.” 

“That’s not what it was about! I swear!” 

“Then what?! What the fuck were you two yelling at each other about?” She cried, now throwing her purse around in the damp air. The clouds opened up to mirror her strife, pouring out over the both of you. 

You had to yank your hoodless coat over your head to shield yourself from the onslaught, all while screaming back at her. “It wasn’t you. I just…can we get out of the fucking rain?!!” 

“No! I want an answer! You don’t keep things from me; you never ever do.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you; it’s just…" You couldn’t finish that one sentence yet again. You're one roadblock to fixing this situation, possibly making it so much worse. 

“Just what?! Fuckin tell me.” She was just letting the storm soak her to her bones, too caught up in her personal whirlwind to notice. 

Do you dare tell the truth? How would she react? You have to take a heavy breath before attempting to speak again. They were the first words that popped into your head, and they just spilled out without stopping to think them over. 

“He was mad at me for not stopping you that night at the party. He was upset that I let you get so drunk. I was there with you, and I didn’t do enough to stop it, and he was just upset. I don’t mean to keep anything from you.” But I have to. 

Another painful lie to add to your new pile of sin. But, you weren’t wrong either. You went with her to protect her, and you failed. Whether James had truly felt it was your fault, a small part of you certainly did. 

Becky just sobbed there in the rain before stumbling towards you to drag you into another tight hug, crying into your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” This time it was her who was apologizing and bawling into your already wet coat that was still slung over your head. 

“Can we just get out of the rain, please?!” 

She pulled away and gave a little nod before walking off towards the treeline near the parking lot. There was a metal link fence protecting the short strip of wilderness from the cracked concrete of civilization. 

Neither of you were going to be able to walk home in this weather, and Becky agreed to call her dad. 

You were hesitant to bother your mom, as not only was she at work, but she wasn’t keen on you still hanging around Rebecca. 

You got chewed out for having her in the house again. This time the transgression would be met with an actual punishment. 

The two of you waited by the trees before he came speeding by. New puddles that formed in the small dips in the road were splashed out by the onslaught of determined tires, sending a rush of water over the side of his truck before he finally came to a stop beside a set of two troublesome girls. 

Becky rushed for the door, yanking it open so as to escape the rain. You followed after, breathing with relief to be out of the downpour of water and emotion. 

“Why didn’t you call sooner?” Mr. Barnes rubbed his brow hard as the two of you crawled into the back of the truck. 

It wasn’t that simple anymore to just answer that question. As hard as it was to give Becky a crumb, you couldn’t bear to give him so much as an inkling of the previous conversation you and Becky shared. 

“It wasn’t that bad a minute ago.” Becky might not have been lying, as she didn’t pay much attention to the actual severity of the rain during her tirade. 

“Well, let's check the weather next time before going out on one of your little excursions, okay?” 

“Alright,” Becky huffed before pulling her seatbelt across her body with a click. 

You stayed quiet during the ride, thinking only about the partial confession you’d given your friend. You looked up only once at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of a familiar pair of blue eyes looking back at you before switching back to the road ahead. 

Chapter 5

Tag list : @brianheadsworld @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @funkybarnes @mayusenpai666 @societyfolklore @cadencejames87 @wintrsoldrluvr @mrs-marc-spector @waitingformysandman @buckitostan @areadersworld @kjah97 @buckysdoll85 @allmyfanficfaves @lovehotch87 @reelovesbuckybarnes @winterslove1917 @missvelvetsstuff @roguelioness-blog @quotesprincess-blog1 @shortayye @notyourtypicalrose

[wildrangers]

Who Are We to Fight the Alchemy? // Joe Keery

Word Count: 3.9K

Summary: Famous singer reader x Joe Keery

Tropes & Topics: Meet cute, slow burn, cursing, I don't think anything major?

It had been a long day and Joe couldn’t wait to be home. He was on the last leg of recording in New York and filming in Atlanta, feeling desperate for some time off. At the same time, though, he was happier than he’d been in months, having creative outlets for all he’d been through over the last year.

He waved goodbye to the techs before opening the door to rejoin the New York streets. He was taken aback, at first, by how bright it was out at dusk. Within seconds, he realized it was cameras flashing against the darkening sky and his confusion deepened as girls shrieking turned to dead quiet. 

“Oh, it's not Y/N, who even is that?” he heard a girl ask from the nearby barricade that must have been erected after he came in that morning. As he collected himself and made his way around the giant crowd, he heard her friend gasp and call, “Oh my god, it’s that guy from that Netflix show!” 

He shook his head laughing quietly as he turned the corner towards his apartment. It was a long walk but the quiet time after being in a studio all day did wonders. He pulled out his phone texting his friend and producer, Adam. 

Weird question, is Y/N L/N at Electric? 

Not sure but that would explain why they told me to go around back…

They were really hyped the door opened until they saw it was just me

Adam responded with a laugh reaction to his text and Joe slid his headphones on as any further thoughts of you dissipated. 

***

You knew better than to be at the studio this late. It was well past midnight and your producer had left hours ago, encouraging you to do the same, but here you sat. There was just something off about this song that you couldn’t quite nail down. Plus, it’s not like you had anyone or anything waiting for you at home. You pushed that particular thought from your head, standing to take a lap around the building to stretch your legs. 

Your bare feet padded along the carpeted floor as you pushed the door open only to hear a muffled oof from behind it.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” you questioned, jumping into the hallway and shutting the door so you could see who you’d hit. 

“Yeah, yeah, I was more startled than anything else, I thought I was alone” a vaguely familiar looking guy said, his mouth quirking into a smile.

“Still, I am so, so sorry. I was in my own world and also assumed it was just me left here” you frowned, eyes scanning his form to make sure he wasn’t lying about being hurt. 

“I’m all good, promise” he insisted, his tone amused at your concern. “I’m Joe.”

“Y/N” you replied, offering your hand for him to shake. Your guitar string scars brushed his and you smiled brightly at him. “You make music? You look familiar but I was imagining you in a show for some reason.” 

He laughed, retracting his hand to run it through his hair, making it stand on end. “Yeah, I’m that guy from that Netflix show” he said sarcastically and, as you tilted your head in confusion, he added. “I left the studio a few days ago and severely disappointed your fans. As I rounded the corner, that’s what they dubbed me.”

Your hand flew to your mouth to hide the giggle that escaped despite your efforts. “I’m sorry, I love their support but I can only imagine how jarring that was to walk into unexpectedly.” 

“It’s fine, good to stay humble after all” he shrugged, a grin breaking across his face and it clicked. 

“Stranger Things!” you shouted, unintentionally loud in the otherwise quiet space. “Sorry, I knew I’d seen you in something, I love that show but it’s been like a decade since new episodes were released.” 

“We’re actually towards the end of filming the last season now.”

“In New York?” you questioned, confused. 

“No, I’m flying back and forth between here and Atlanta to record on off days” he explained. 

“You must be exhausted, that sounds grueling.” He shrugged but you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, certain you had some of your own after all the late nights. “Want to grab some coffee? I have a pot going in my room.” 

“That would be great actually, yeah” he agreed and you carefully opened the door, ensuring it didn’t touch him, which made him chuckle lightly. “What are you working on, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You sighed deeply, pouring each of you a mug before settling, cross-legged, on your chair. “I don’t even know anymore” you admitted and he frowned sympathetically. 

“That’s the stage I’m at with my album too” he shared and you hummed in appreciation for the pains of this part of the recording process. 

“It’s just like…I feel like the album isn’t clicking yet, you know? And there’s this one song I’m toying with, have been for days, and something missing that I can’t figure out. It doesn’t sound like it fits but it should, so I’m stuck.” 

“Want me to take a listen? I don’t know how much insight I could offer but sometimes an outside ear helps” he shrugged and you paused, normally hesitant to share anything with people outside your circle. But his eyes were earnest and you found yourself agreeing, pulling up the audio track on the computer and hitting play. 

You fiddled with the ends of your braids as music filled the room. You listened all the way through, your frustration at not being able to solve it growing as the minutes passed on. As silence fell, you glanced to gauge Joe’s reaction. His brows were furrowed, seemingly deep in thought.

“That’s a new direction for you to be going in, right? It’s like moody pop. Is that the general vibe for the album?”

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, nodding, “Yeah, in general. And thanks, it feels like me but kind of like a bridge to a new version of what I want to end up doing, if that makes sense?” 

“Yeah, it feels that way” he nodded eagerly, leaning his elbows onto his knees, his face moving closer to yours. “Can you play the bridge one more time?” 

You quickly clicked the buttons to fulfill his request, pulling up your legs so you could rest your cheek to your knee. 

“It’s hard because I can’t tell if this is supposed to be sad or upbeat,” he admitted. 

“Yeah, I’m having the same problem” you sighed, running your hands over your face. “It’s just…never mind, I don’t want to, like, vomit my life at you, I’m sure you’re busy.”

“I don’t mind, it’s kind of nice to look at a musical puzzle that’s not mine” he chuckled and you cracked a brief smile. 

You normally hesitated to discuss anything personal with new people. You’d been burned in the past and you honestly found it could be distracting to the work itself, once it was out in the world. But, there was something in Joe’s energy that felt safe. He was curious as a fellow artist, not as a nosy outsider wanting to take whatever crumbs you’d drop about your personal shit. 

“My boyfriend of about six years and I broke up almost a year ago” you began quietly, closing your eyes to shut out some of the vulnerability of the moment. “And it happened during, like, the peak of my musical career so far. So, there I was, on the outside, living my best life where inwardly I was just…fucking reeling, you know?” 

You dared a glance up and were met by his soft, compassionate gaze. He nodded his encouragement so you continued, “So I want this album to kind of embody that. All the high high and low lows and how disorienting it is for them to happen at once, especially in the public eye. But, it all sounds discordant right now so I’m trying to decide if I should just lean into one side or the other.” 

“Well, you’re trying to have this album represent that time in your life, right?” 

“Mostly, yeah. My tour wrapped about a month ago so this is the first time since everything happened that I can just, like, sit and process shit. Which has been good for me mentally but… I don’t know if it’s just me being self indulgent and not actually creating a cohesive body of work.” 

“Why can’t it be both?” 

“Because it’s confusing as a listener” you argued, leaning up and meeting his gaze. “How do we go from a song about feeling depressed and alone to an upbeat celebratory track?” 

“Just mix them up a little sonically” he suggested and you stared at him blankly. “Like, this song, right? It’s sad, it’s about feeling like nothing you do is enough for someone. What would that sound like over…I don’t know some synth? A more upbeat pace?” 

You paused, mulling over his words. For the first time in days, you felt inspired solving the puzzle of this song rather than lost. “And then maybe I can do it vice versa too, like weave slower tones or moments into happier songs so it all melds.”

“Yeah, exactly! And I think you’re wrong, by the way” he added offhand. 

“About what?”

“I don’t think it would be confusing to a careful listener” he said earnestly and you frowned, not agreeing. “I think everyone experiences times in their life where all kinds of shit, good and bad, is happening and they’re just muddling through. Why wouldn’t people be able to hear that either in your words or the production or both? You’re underestimating them.”

You let his words sink in and found yourself smiling, “I’m really happy I whacked you with that door.”

He threw his head back in laughter before jokingly saluting you. “Glad to be of service, even if you broke my toe.”

“Stop, did I really?” you questioned, worry flooding your system again.

“Nah, I’m just fucking with you” he smiled and you rolled your eyes.

A comfortable silence fell for a few moments as you grabbed your notebook to write down these new thoughts. You didn’t want to make any drastic changes without your producer there. “Would you want me to help with your puzzle?” 

“Nah, I wouldn’t want to bother you” he said and you raised your eyes to glare at him. 

“Because I didn’t just bother you?”

“You didn’t bother me” he sighed, frustrated. 

“And you’re not bothering me” you sighed, mimicking his tone, making him laugh again. 

“Fine, come listen to my dumpster fire” he replied, standing up but you grabbed his wrist to make him stop. 

“Don’t ever talk about your music like that, got it?” you ordered and his cheeks flamed pink but he nodded.

“Oh gosh, my foot fell asleep, do you mind if I just?” you questioned, tightening your hold on his wrist in the hopes he’d let you use him for balance.

“Yeah, of course” he agreed, reaching for your other hand which slid easily into his. You rose slowly, waiting for the pins and needles to subside. “It’s good we ran into each other, I’m heading back to Atlanta tomorrow night.”

“Definitely, cosmic even” you agreed, smiling up at him and he gently squeezed your hand in response. You got stuck there for a moment, staring into his warm brown eyes, his hands a steady comfort. His eyes dipped briefly to your mouth and though your heart thudded deliciously, you dropped his hands with another thanks. You were glad you’d met him but you weren’t ready for romance quite yet. You needed time to work through the last year and you wanted to do your next relationship, whatever that looked like, right–clean and clear-headed. 

***

Joe was soaking up the crowd singing “Back to Beginning” alongside him. He’d never experienced this large of a crowd singing it back to him before. As he strummed the final note, he waved his goodbyes, making his way offstage. Out of sight from the crowd, he pulled his band in for a hug as the adrenaline began working its way out of his system. 

“Oh shit” Adam breathed and Joe followed his line of sight to find you standing a few feet away, sunglasses on and a cap on your head. His heart rate, which had just begun to slow, rapidly accelerated as you beamed at him. His brain caught up with the moment and he pulled himself away from the guys to greet you.

“You were amazing!” you complimented, pulling him into a quick hug. He returned the embrace, confused but thrilled by your presence.

“Thanks so much” he smiled as you took a step back. “What brings you to Australia?” 

“My schedule kept me from seeing any of Charli’s shows so I figured I’d make a vacation of it to see her headline.”

“That sounds awesome” he replied, eyes sweeping the area. “Are you here by yourself?” 

“Well, it’s me and Frank over there” you replied, nodding to a burlier guy near the main staircase to the area. “He’s been my bodyguard for, like, my entire career, and he’s the best person to take to these things. Charli and I have plans over the next few days but she wanted to rest up before tonight.”

A not quite comfortable silence descended. Joe was flattered you came for his set but didn’t know what to say. Despite the emotional intimacy of those few late hours together at Electric Lady, he hadn’t summoned the courage to ask for your number. And between shooting and never seeing you again at the studio, he’d let the night exist as a one-off moment in time and left it there. But, here you were all these months later. 

“I was really bummed we never ran into each other again” you said, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Yeah, me too. I kicked myself a little bit for not asking for your number.” You smiled, ducking your head at his remark and he felt his cheeks warm. “Not that I assumed you’d have shared it but–” 

“I would have, happily” you replied and his stomach swooped. “But it’s probably better you didn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

You regarded him silently for a moment before asking, “Do you want to come hear how that song we were working on turned out?” 

He was confused by the shift in conversation but nodded eagerly. “Definitely, it’d be great to get out of this heat too.” 

As you two made your way towards the air conditioned trailers the venue had set up for the performers and their guests, he didn’t fail to notice the eyes that trailed the two of you. You were quiet as you walked but he didn’t know you well enough to understand if that was normal for you or if something else was going on. 

A few moments later, he settled onto the couch in your trailer as you pulled out your laptop, handing him a set of headphones before sliding on your own set. You hit play and he smiled when he heard the upbeat, synthy tones. It was better than anything he could have imagined months ago but that didn’t surprise him–you were a legend for a reason.

“That was fucking amazing, Y/N” he replied as the song wrapped up and you grinned at him. 

“Thanks, I seriously couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You definitely could have, you’re an incredible artist.” 

“So are you, that’s why I’m making sure you have a producing credit when the album comes out in the fall.” His heart dropped and his mouth must have too because you shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, unless you really don’t want me to, I just think your suggestions are all over that song. All over the album, if I’m being honest.”

“I don’t even know what to say, I’m flattered. You really don’t have to do that.” 

“I know but I’d like to, if you’ll let me.”

He met your eyes and they were filled with some intense emotion he couldn’t quite name. “Sure, that’s super sweet of you.”

 “I really like your new songs,” you added quickly. 

“Yeah?” he smiled, pride filling his chest. “Which ones?”

“The basic one, I love the production, and the delete you one is fucking incredible”

His breath quickened as he debated how much to share. “Thanks…if I’m being honest, talking with you that night really helped me too. I didn’t say it at the time but I was going through a split from a long term relationship too. And, I don’t know, hearing you talk about that experience more eloquently than I could really shaped the last few songs on the album. Delete Ya was the first song I wrote after that night”

“Well, now I’m flattered,” you replied and he chuckled.

“I should have given you a writing credit or something.”

“Well, there’s still time for us to do that one day.” 

“I’ll hold you to it” he joked but your expression was serious.

“I hope you do” you replied quietly and he couldn't help himself from asking what he’d been wondering about.  

“Why did you say it was better we didn’t stay in contact?” 

You sighed, shifting your laptop to the ground and criss crossing your legs. “That night, I thought we were going to kiss. And I really wanted to but I wasn’t ready. And if the next song you wrote was that one, you probably weren’t either.” 

He held your intense gaze as he processed your words. “Does it ever scare you? Thinking about if the person you lost damaged you in a way that can’t be mended?” 

“It used to,” you admitted. “And sometimes if I stay up too late alone it really does. But I think people can heal from anything and who am I to exclude myself from the rest of humanity?” 

He smiled at you, “I really like listening to you talk.” 

“Yeah?” you laughed, ducking your head again. 

“Yeah” he said, nudging your knee with his own. “And you’re right too. I would have kissed you that night, or at least tried to, if we hadn’t shifted into my room when we did.” 

“Am I right about the other stuff too?” 

“Probably” he admitted. “But I feel differently now.” 

“Me too” you said quietly and his heart thumped as your eyes dipped to his mouth. He leaned in, eyes drifting shut before a loud knock on the door made you two spring apart. 

“Boss lady, Charli’s set’s in ten!” Frank called and you laughed nervously, running a hand over your face before standing up and offering him your hand. 

“Want to join me?” 

“Could we go down in the crowd? It’d be so much fun surrounded by everyone” You paused for a moment, frowning, and he squeezed your hand as he stood up. “We can go wherever you’ll be most comfortable though.” 

You regarded him for a moment before your face broke into a huge grin, “Fuck it, let’s go. Frank will be pissed but I’ve put him through worse.” 

***

Your heart was pounding in your chest and you felt like everyone was staring but you couldn’t make yourself care, not really. You were settled between Joe and his friend, Adam, eagerly waiting for Charli to take the stage. 

“Do you get used to that?” Joe asked, mouth dangerously close to your ear. 

“What?”

“People thinking they’re being really subtle while filming you or taking photos.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, it’s the fucking worst. It must happen to you too, no?”

“Sure, at cons or in Atlanta maybe but most places? No.” 

“I’m sorry, I can always go backstage instead if you want?” you offered, feeling badly that you were dampening his night. 

“Hey, no” he said, throwing his arm loosely around your shoulders, warming you from the inside out. “I want to experience this with you.” 

You didn’t know what to say so you just wrapped your own arm around his waist, briefly laying your head on his shoulder before the bass of Charli’s opening track blasted through the air.

You were so grateful Joe had encouraged you to be in the crowd, even if it was the roped off VIP section. You never let yourself just exist this way, dancing and laughing and having fun knowing people were watching but doing your best not to care. And you wanted to experience this night with him too, fully, without hiding. 

As Joe fumbled his way through the apple dance you could barely breathe you were laughing so hard. When your favorite tracks came on, you jumped and screamed along with everyone else, feeling beyond proud of your old friend. As the final song wrapped up, you cheered until you were hoarse. 

As the crowd started to disperse, you grabbed Joe’s hand without thinking. “Follow me, I want to get backstage to congratulate Charli.” 

Joe nodded, motioning for Adam to follow you both, Frank tailing behind. As you weaved your way out, you were finally hidden from the crowd’s view and you felt your shoulders fully relax. You turned to say something to Joe but lost your breath when he dragged you into an alcove you hadn’t even noticed a moment before. 

“What are you–” you began but were quickly cut off by his lips crashing into yours. You eagerly returned the kiss, slinging your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. His hands landed on your hips, his thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your shirt, drawing goosebumps to your skin even though it was easily 80 degrees outside.

You tangled your hands in his hair, loving how soft and thick the strands felt between your fingers. When you gave a light tug, Joe groaned into your mouth, making your pulse race even faster. His hands pressed you into him, your bodies lining up perfectly as he deepened the kiss, tongue swiping your mouth, begging for entrance. You happily opened for him and you lost sense of anything that wasn’t the feel of his mouth, the heat of his hands, and the furious beating of your hearts against each other. 

The spell was broken by Frank and Adam’s voices nearby, questioning each other where they’d last seen you both. It was the worried tone in Frank’s voice that made you pull away, frantically drawing air into your lungs. Your eyes opened, rising to meet his and you were pleased to see his pupils were lust-blown wide. 

“I’m sorry, I’d been dying to do that all night but I wanted it to be just us, you know?”

“I do and appreciate it” you smiled, lightly pecking his lips again. “But Frank is going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t see me in the next sixty seconds.”

“Make that thirty seconds” you heard Frank call from nearby. Joe and you froze, staring at each other before dissolving into giggles, your head resting on his chest that rumbled with laughter. 

“Rain check?” you whispered, grabbing his hand to lead him out. 

“Fuck yes” he smiled, placing a kiss to your temple. And even though you were terrified of how this could play out, who were you to fight the joy and hope flooding your system? 

Note: This is my first time writing for Joe, so I'd love to hear any feedback. I can't wait for his new album to come out. If people like this one, I definitely have ideas for another part and other potential stories with him. (Side note: this is clearly referencing Taylor Swift's TTPD which was my inspiration for this idea)

[gloomwitchwrites]

Ink & Needle // Chapter Three

Tattoo Artist Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): tattoo shop au, language, death of a spouse, brief descriptions of death & injury, symptoms of grief, brief suggestive themes

Word Count: 5.1k

A tragedy pulls you back to England. A certain masked man follows your arrival.

Chapter Two // Chapter Four

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Three Years Later

Outside the café window, the sky is a dark gray, threatening rain. Across the street is the Cambridge train station. Commuters move to and away from the station, many of them jumping into cabs, waiting at the nearby bus terminal, or entering the pedestrian areas. Several even enter the café you’re currently waiting in.

Your fingers tap on the plastic lid of your coffee cup in a steady, nervous thrum. Your sandwich is off to the side, hardly touched. You’ve only managed a few bites. It’s not that the sandwich is bad but that you’re so exhausted that even food turns your stomach.

At the moment, sleep is an elusive creature, and you certainly cannot curl up in your chair and fall asleep in the café.

You haven’t slept in hours. Anxiousness simmers in every part of your body. On the flight into O’Hare International, you almost puked up your breakfast. Then, on the connecting flight into London, your stomach was a roiling mess. You spent the whole flight staring at the ceiling of the plane praying that you didn’t need to quickly run to the bathroom. The train from London to Cambridge was no better. Your stomach still isn’t cooperating.

You sigh and try again anyway. Tearing into the sandwich, you chew slowly, thinking that maybe if you only focus on the flavors, you’ll sense something.

The bite is dead in your mouth. Bland.

Perhaps you’re getting sick.

You glance out the café window, your gaze scanning the sidewalk and street. Evie is late, which is so unlike her, but entirely understandable. She just buried Archie less than a week ago, and the whole reason you’re back in London is because of the fucking shitty situation Evie is in now that Archie is dead.

It isn’t fair. Evie doesn’t deserve any of this. The two of them should be celebrating their three-year wedding anniversary next month.

You don’t have the ability to track Evie on your phone—the cellular fees alone would be astronomical. All you have is Evie’s “on my way” text and a hope that she’ll turn up soon. You miss her. You want to hold her in your arms and remind her that there are still people in her life that love her.

Evie still hasn’t made an appearance after another ten minutes, and you turn back to the offending sandwich, taking another bite as if this one might be the one that does it.

Nothing. You almost spit it back onto the plate.

You run your hand over your face. Now that you’re sitting, and at your destination, your body is screaming out for rest. Every muscle and limb aches, and you know your eyes are likely bloodshot from the lack of sleep.

“There you are.”

The soft, melodic voice draws your gaze away from the café window. There’s Evie, beautiful even though she looks a mess. There are deep bags under her eyes and her chestnut-colored hair is bunched up on the back of her head in a bun. Worse, Evie’s eyes are watery, like at any moment she’s about to burst into tears.

Evie stands right in front of you, and as your gaze roams down her body, taking note of how disheveled she looks, you land on the one thing that makes this situation so much worse.

With one hand, Evie cradles her pregnant belly. The other rests against the bulging curve. Eight months. Her due date is coming up quick. On her and Archie’s three-year anniversary of all things.

You stand quickly and throw your arms around your best friend, squeezing her tightly but minding the belly, oozing every ounce of love you have for her into the embrace.

“I’m sorry, Evie. I’m so sorry.” Your voice nearly breaks but you manage to reel it in before it shatters.

No number of apologies could ever replace what happened. Wrong place, wrong time is what Evie was told. The bullet wasn’t even for Archie. The person aiming the gun shot wide of their mark, striking Archie in the back of the head.

He died while on a business trip for his family’s consulting firm in the United States. Archie was on his way to meet up with a few friends when his skull was blown off. Evie was told that he died quickly. That he probably didn’t feel a thing.

You draw back a bit and smile softly. “Please sit.” You pull away but keep one hand on Evie’s back, gesturing at the chair across the table from yours.

Evie winces into the seat. “How was your flight?” she asks, rubbing the top of her belly. “And the train?”

“Fine. All fine,” you reply quickly. A lie. You’re bone-tired. Aching in all sorts of places. “How are you? Are you doing okay?” You desperately need to know.

Evie has no family. None. She’s an only child. Her mother died when she was young, and her father died of Coal Worker’s Pneumoconiosis after his retirement. The only family she has in the world is Archie’s, and most of them despise her working-class roots. You distinctly remember Archie’s mother calling Evie a “leech” to her face minutes before the ceremony took place.

That hag of a woman sat in the front row of the church like she hadn’t just spit venom.

Reaching out, you rest your arm across the table, presenting your open palm. Evie stares down at it for a brief moment before sliding her hand into yours, squeezing. Her eyes are wet, close to spilling over, and you decide that this topic of conversation is not appropriate for such a public spot.

“We can talk about it later. If you want,” you murmur, not wanting to draw unneeded attention to her.

Eve sniffles and nods, releasing your hand to dig around in her purse for a tissue.

You slowly draw your hand back into your lap. “I can tell you about work,” you suggest. Evie daps at her eyes and then blows her nose. “Want a bite of my sandwich?”

The offer falls flat. Evie shakes her head. “You should eat it.”

And you need to eat something Evelyn Green.

“You need it more than me,” you insist. “Honestly, I’m not feeling it. Don’t want to let it go to waste.” You push the plate across the table to her.

You don’t need to ask to know Evie isn’t eating. Her cheeks are sunken and her skin is on the paler side like she’s fallen ill. Evie holds the sandwich in both hands and takes a pensive bite. She chews slowly, and then digs in as if starved.

Without Archie here, has no one checked on her? Has Archie’s family completely cut her off? It makes your blood boil.

In the States, you can’t really do anything, but now that you’re here—now that you’re actually witnessing the state she’s in—you’re fucking furious.

The best thing for you to do is to not linger on it or bring it to Evie’s attention. This is something you can tackle later when you’ve had time to calm down.

You adjust in your chair and clasp your coffee cup with both hands. “The technical writing work pays but isn’t that exciting, unless you’d like to hear about the furniture instructional manuals I’ve been editing.”

Evie grins around a bite of food and that small, amused smile is enough to ease some of that internal anxiousness.

“I do have come fiction clients. Pay isn’t nearly as good, but very enjoyable.”

Evie chews and swallows. “I’m glad you’re staying busy.” Her smile softens a bit. “And that you’re here.”

“I’ve missed you, Evelyn Green.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

You take a small sip of your coffee. It’s gone cold.

“I’ll grab another for the road.” You lift the coffee cup. “Once you’re finished, we’ll leave.”

You take Evie’s car to her house near the outskirts of Cambridge proper. Even though Archie helped his father run the family business, he had his own ambitions when it came to his career. He took a part-time teaching job at the university. He and Evie moved out to Cambridge quickly, mostly to escape his family.

While Archie loved them, he did not love how they treated Evie. He spent a great deal of time away from them, but coming from privilege has its own issues. Archie was always called to attend this or that event, and Evie always came along.

From the street, all you see are tall hedges. When Evie pulls into the drive and stops at the gates, you glimpse a small sliver of brick. Evie presses a button on a small remote and the gate opens inward. The hedges are only a natural fence, and once you’re past them, you finally see the house Evie has called home for the past two years.

It’s all brick with wide windows and a flowerbed that follows the outline of the house. The tall hedges mark the property boundaries, and you cannot see into any of the neighbors’ yards. The property itself is deep, stretching vertically back from the road.

Evie pulls up to the garage but doesn’t pull inside. Instead, she parks the car and starts to get out. You follow suit, moving to the trunk to withdraw your suitcase.

“This is gorgeous, Evie.”

“Thank you,” she replies softly. “Archie picked it out.”

The mention of Evie’s dead husband immediately puts you on edge. You glance at your friend and frown. She’s staring off into the distance.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you go over to her and slide your arm around hers. “Show me around.”

Evie seems to melt a bit, whatever it is that held her slipping away for a moment. She tilts her head toward you and smiles. Over the next few minutes, Evie shows you the private backyard complete with garden and pool. From there, the two of you enter through the mudroom door, kicking off your shoes and heading into the living room.

The space is rustic with deep browns, greens, and golds. There is no minimalism or modernness to this home other than the appliances. You do a small turn, admiring the organized yet maximalist-leaning décor.

“Evie, I—” Your voice cuts when your gaze falls on her.

She is focused on the fireplace mantel. As your attention shifts from her to the mantel, you realize what Evie is staring at. The entire mantel is lined with framed phots of their wedding. There are pictures of just Evie and Archie, some of his family, and ones of the bridal party.

Sighing softly, you move toward her, taking her upper arm to snag her attention.

Reluctantly, Evie’s gaze pulls away from the photographs.

“Can you show me to my room? We can go from there.” You make sure to not sound condescending or worried for her. Evie needs a bit of normalcy.

“Of course,” she nods, showing you to the spare bedroom on the second floor.

You promptly set your stuff down and unpack after Evie slinks away. You’re worried about her and the baby. It’s why you came out here after all. Evie has no one, and with your work, you can easily pack up and travel, taking it with you.

When you return to the first floor, you head into the kitchen. Evie stands in front of the open fridge staring at nothing.

“Evie,” you call out. She doesn’t reply. “Evie.”

She glances over at you and promptly shuts the fridge. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I spaced out.”

“You wanna order takeout?” You slide your phone out of your pocket and wave it in the air. Evie nods and the two of you go to the couch, settling in.

“What are you in the mood for?” You open a food delivery app and begin browsing.

“Whatever you want,” replies Evie.

You tap away at your screen. “What if I’m craving sushi? That would be a problem.”

“True,” she smirks, rubbing the curve of her belly

“What about a super greasy pizza with lots of cheese?”

“We’re in England,” laughs Evie. “Not America.”

“So? There has to be a good pizza place around here.”

Evie leans in a bit and watches your phone over your shoulder. The two of you bicker back and forth but finally decide on the pizza idea.

“How’s baby?” you ask, locking your phone and setting it to the side.

Evie lightly taps her belly. “Good. Healthy.” She winces. “Pushing on my bladder,” she mutters.

“As they do.”

“Archie and I made a list of names. Narrowed it down a bit but never got to finish before…well…now I’m not sure what I like.”

“Do you know what you’re having?”

Evie nods. “You know we wanted to keep it a surprise, but with Archie gone and everything that’s happened, I decided I want to know now. To prepare.”

“Of course. That’s understandable.”

There is so much that still needs to be done, and your arrival only scratches the surface.

Evie gently elbows you in the arm. “Do you want to know?”

You gently elbow her back. “Only if you want to tell me.”

Evie pauses briefly before speaking. “It’s a girl.”

“I’m so proud of you,” you murmur. “You’re going to be an amazing mom, Evelyn Green.”

Evie starts laughing, which quickly turns into crying. You sit up, ready to comfort her, but she’s already starting to laugh again.

“Fuck. I think I peed,” she hiccups as she tries to get off the couch. It’s more of a roll and you hop up to assist her. She totters off to change.

The pizza arrives during that time, and the two of you snuggle into the couch, creating a bed of pillows and blankets as you eat pizza and watch a reality show on Netflix. Evie starts to soften, becomes happier, and you love to see it. The pizza is loaded with extra cheese, lots of garlic, roasted tomato, spinach, and a white sauce.

“You know,” you say around a bite of crust. “The fact that ranch is not a staple with pizza here is an atrocity.”

Evie arches an eyebrow and wipes away a wayward strand of cheese from her chin. “You want to eat ranch with this?”

“Not this specifically,” you mutter.

Evie snorts and takes a large bite of her slice. “What I really miss most about the States is the food.”

“Like what?” you press.

“Tacos. And not that hardshell bullshit you get at the grocery store. I want the cilantro, sliced radish, and lime with a salsa so hot it melts your face.”

“Don’t forget the onion.”

“And extra onion,” adds Evie.

You wipe off some grease from the corner of your mouth.

Evie sighs, her shoulders heaving before she turns to look at you. “Thank you. By the way. You didn’t have to come.”

You roll your eyes and give her your best smile. “I’d do anything for you. Plus, I work remote. I can literally go anywhere in the world at any time and still be able to do my job. Honestly, it’s fine. Plus, I’m not paying rent or anything. It’s amazing.”

Evie shakes her head in amusement. Her plate is carefully balanced on her belly. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The abrupt change startles you.

“Nope,” you reply quickly, nibbling on the reminder of your crust.

“Remember that man with the balaclava at Riot Room?” Evie gestures toward her face as if she’s wearing one. “The one Jade, Sam, and I all convinced you to have sex with?”

You drop the pizza crust onto your plate. “Yes.” Why is Evie asking about him?

“Do you ever think about what happened to him? Like, what he might be doing now?”

All the time.

You lick your lips and rub your fingers together over the plate. Crumbs fall from your hands. “Sometimes.”

It’s a total lie. You think about your wraith all the time, especially in the dark when your hand is between your legs. The memory of him is like a deep, poorly healed scar. It is a slash across your heart.

Ghost.

His touch will never fade. He marked you, made you his, and you won’t forget a single moment you spent with him.

“I can’t believe you missed Sam making a move on his friends. What was his name?”

“Gaz?” you offer, vaguely recalling the man that spoke to you when Ghost wouldn’t let go of your arm.

“Was it? I thought Sam said his name was ‘Kyle.’”

You shrug. “The man I ran away with called himself ‘Ghost.’”

Evie nods, yawning. “That’s true.” She shifts slightly in your direction. The plate on her belly stays put. “We have an early morning.”

“Do we?” you ask nonchalantly, thankful for the pivot in conversation.

“Did you ever meet Archie’s grandmother? Amelia?”

There are only a handful of times you’ve met anyone from Archie’s family and most of them were during those last few weeks leading up to the wedding.

“I don’t believe so,” you reply slowly.

Evie rubs at the side of her belly in agitation. “You can’t stay with me forever. And while I appreciate you, I’ll need support when you’re gone.”

Sighing, Evie removes the plate from belly and tries to sit up. Knowing her efforts will be in vain, you take the plate from her and set it on the coffee table.

Evie murmurs a quiet ‘thank you’ and falls back against the couch. “We’re going to stay with her. She lives in the Clapton area of London.”

You’re surprised. Evie loves this home. When her and Archie first moved in, it’s all she could talk about. “You don’t want us to stay here?”

Evie’s mouth turns downward and tears start to form in the corner of her eyes again. You understand the moment the words leave your mouth. This place holds too many memories.

“It’s not like anyone else will have me,” she sniffles even as she tries to laugh it off like it doesn’t bother her.

“They’re a bunch of idiots. And don’t deserve your tears. Fuck. Them.” You stuff the rest of your half-eaten crust into your mouth.

It might not be the nicest thing to say, but the majority of Archie’s family are assholes who deserve to be called by an insult rather than their names,

Evie turns back toward the television. You snuggle in next to her and Evie’s head falls against your shoulder. A single tear rolls down her cheek and you absently wipe it away.

The next day is all business.

It keeps Evie busy enough that she can’t stop to cry, but you still make her take frequent breaks. It’s clear that Evie hasn’t been taking care of herself since Archie’s funeral. She may be eight-months pregnant, but she’s abnormally sluggish and forgetful. Evie keeps losing her train of thought, or she starts to mumble to herself instead of speaking directly to you when you ask her a question.

It’s upsetting, but it mostly makes you angry. It means that Archie’s family has completely abandoned her now that he’s dead. They have no reason to interact with her.

On top of that, there is too much to do, and Evie needs all the support she can get. You don’t want to make England your permanent place of residence, but Evie is like a sister to you. She is family. You won’t toss her to the side.

The biggest hurdle is making sure Evie has adequate help. You’re not the only person Evie should need to rely on. After Evie went to bed last night, you promptly messaged Jade and Sam, detailing the situation. Both of them want to come out, but their jobs are not nearly as flexible as yours.

With the essentials packed, and the car loaded, you and Evie clean out the kitchen, tossing out all the open perishables while boxing up everything that is still good and unopened. The two of you will stop at a local food bank and drop it off.

At midday, the two of you are in the car, driving to London. By American standards, the drive isn’t that far, but the traffic is horrendous. Evie drives, and you take notes of everything that needs to be done while being the perfect passenger princess.

Everything in the house will need to be organized and gone through. Evie plans on staying with Archie’s grandmother which means she needs to downsize. You’ll need to contact an estate agent to appraise and ready the house for the market. All the furniture will either need to be sold, donated, or brought to Ameila’s home. With Archie’s death also comes an enormous amount of wealth all tied up in various assets. None of it makes any sense, and Archie’s personal solicitor will need to be contacted.

None of that includes setting up a nursery or supporting Evie through the rest of her pregnancy. Plus, there is your job to think about. Yes, you do mostly freelance work, but you’re usually sent work by the company that contracts you. There are deadlines that you need to hit.

The GPS beeps and Evie turns onto a massive thoroughfare, crossing a large bridge before coming to a massive roundabout. From there, Evie follows the road a few minutes. She turns onto a side street lined with various business and homes. You recognize nothing. This city is completely foreign to you.

“We’re here,” says Evie, nodding to a two-story brick house. She pulls into a tiny driveway and turns off the car.

Amelia’s home is what you picture when you think of houses in England. Maybe you’ve watched one too many movies, or maybe the stereotype holds true, but it fits the bill. On the outside, it’s clean and taken care of. The short driveway and path to the store is perfectly lain without a single weed. Even the stunted hedges under the front windows are perfectly trimmed.

You’re out of your seat and to the driver side of the car before Evie has the chance to open her door. When she tries to head to the back of the car to empty the trunk, you politely chase her away. You’ll make multiple trips if you need to, but you’re not allowing Evie to lift a single thing.

The front door opens and a short, stout older woman steps out onto the stoop. Her graying hair is clipped to her shoulders. She wears tan pants, the knees of which are patched over with sunflowers on white fabric. The rainboots on her feet are splattered with mud, and the yellow coat and white linen shirt she wears are speckled with a bit of dirt.

Amelia grins as she removes the gloves she’s wearing. “Evelyn!” she calls out.

“Amelia,” greets Evie, her arms outstretched.

Evie waddles over to Amelia and the two of them embrace. Amelia pulls back at the same moment you approach the two women.

Amelia smiles. “Can’t forget you.”

“You—” The words leave your mouth in a huff when Ameila wraps her around your waist and squeezes like she’s trying to snap your spine.

“Evie’s friend,” breathes Amelia, stilling holding tight.

“That’s me, ma’am,” you manage, the sound of your voice mostly strangled breathing.

Amelia abruptly stops hugging you and the sudden release of tension is a perfect inhalation. “Blimey! Hear that, Evie? She called me ‘ma’am.’” Amelia tuts. “None of that ‘ma’am’ nonsense around here. Call me Amelia.”

She glances to the left of you and then the right. You only managed to snag a few bags from the car before walking over to them.

“Well,” begins Amelia. “Hand me a bag and let’s get inside. I have the kettle on. Along with some biscuits and jam.”

“Good,” you sigh. “I’m starving. Ran out of car snacks halfway to London.”

Evie glances over her shoulder and grins at you. “That’s because you ate them all.”

You make a face and Evie laughs, entering through the front door.

The first thing you notice about the place is how many goddamn doors there are. Just inside the front door is another door that enters the living room, then another that leads to the stairs. None of it is open. It’s bizarre. Tight and cramped.

You have to wiggle your way sideways into the living room.

“Drop the bag there dear.” Amelia points to a spot near her sofa. “We can grab them later. Take a seat at the table. Enjoy a cuppa before I start dinner.”

The kettle whistles loudly as you enter the kitchen. Evie stretches a bit before she slides into a chair. You select the chair next to her. Amelia grabs three mugs from a cabinet and sets them on the counter. From a different cabinet, Amelia grabs a tea tin and drops a bag into each mug. She removes the kettle from the stove and starts filling the mugs with hot water.

Steam rises into the air. “Now I know all about Evie, but I know nothing about you other than what she’s told me.”

“Whatever she’s told you. It’s isn’t true.”

“It’s all good stuff.”

“Like I said. None of it is true.”

Evie tries and fails to stifle a snort.

Amelia’s mouth forms an amused smile. “She told me you were a writer.”

“Not exactly,” you say slowly. “I’m an editor. I usually do technical work, but I occasionally branch off into the publishing world of fiction. Especially if I’m looking for a little extra cash flow.”

Amelia ambles over to the table, expertly carrying all three mugs. She sets one down in front of Evie first and then you before herself.

Amelia settles into the unoccupied chair.

“She said your job allowed you to move around. That’s good. Glad you’re here. Evie needs more than me looking after her.”

You swallow, the mug hot against your fingers. “I’m glad I came.”

When you wake in the morning, it’s early. The sun is just starting to ascend.

Evie is still asleep, her breathing even and calm. You slowly unfurl yourself, walking on quiet feet to the bathroom with a change of clothes in tow. You brush your teeth and wash your face. It’s a bit cold but not overly so. You open the small window in the bathroom to check.

You head downstairs, a knee-length cardigan wrapped around your body. The kitchen light is on. There is a hot kettle, two mugs, and tea bags set out. The gesture is lovely but you cannot live on tea. You’ll need coffee eventually or you’ll go insane.

The back door is propped open and you walk up to it, poking your head out into the early morning chill. Amelia is out in the backyard tending to her garden. You step out onto the top stair and call out to her.

Amelia glances up and waves you over.

As you approach, she starts talking, her warm breath creating steam before her face. “Checking on the tomatoes. Bit chilly this morning. Plants don’t like it much.”

You wrap your cardigan a little tighter around yourself. “Can I do anything to help you?”

“That’s sweet of you. But no. At least not out here.” Amelia gestures to the raised garden beds with an outstretched hand. “Could you go to the bakery just across the way? Grab some pastries for today and tomorrow?”

You nod. “Of course. Where is it?”

Amelia removes her gloves and tosses them down onto the edge of the wood garden bed. “When you go out the front door makes a left until you come to the first cross-street. Turn left again and then an immediate left at the small corner store. Just walk that and you’ll see it.” Amelia shrugs. “Usually a line by this time.”

“Is there coffee?”

“They do indeed,” replies Amelia with a knowing grin.

“I’ll just grab my coat.”

“Take your time.”

You head back upstairs to the bedroom to grab your coat. Evie is still asleep. Silently, you snag your coat off the back of a chair and slip it on, leaving through the front door.

There is surprisingly little traffic as you follow Ameila’s detailed instructions. You take a left and follow the row of houses all tightly packed together. When you make it to the cross-street, you turn left again. The corner store comes up quickly. Turning left again, you keep your gaze on the storefronts that line the street. After the corner store is a pub, another pub, a salon, a few restaurants, another pub.

Then, a tattoo parlor.

141 Ink the sign reads. It’s dark inside but it’s fairly early. The sun is much higher now but it’s still not late enough for a tattoo shop to be open.

You shrug and walk on, noticing the line Amelia mentioned almost immediately. It’s not nearly as long as you expected it to be, and you’re through faster than you anticipate.

When you step inside, the smell of roasted coffee beans, baked bread, and cinnamon greet your nostrils. There are so many options and for a moment, you’re a little overwhelmed. But with more people lining up behind you, you make a few selections and collect a coffee for yourself.

With bag and coffee in hand, you start to walk back the way you came. The pastries smell delicious and it takes you a second to realize that the door to the tattoo parlor stands open.

You frown and stop right outside the door. Checking your watch, your eyebrows rise at the time. It’s still incredibly early. Who opens a tattoo parlor at this hour?

Curiosity gets the better of you. You walk up to the entrance and glance inside.

The first thing you notice is a dog. It’s an all-black German Shepard that lays in the early morning sun from the window. His eyes are open and he’s looking at you with interest but not enough to lift his head.

There is the sound of metal clanking against metal. It draws your gaze upward and away from the dog. Your eyes catch a bit of movement. You narrow your focus as your sight adjusts to the shadowy interior.

A man is there with his back to you. He shifts. Turns. And then your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him. And that is impossible. Of everyone it could be, how could it possibly be him.

Your wraith.

You are frozen. Utterly shocked. He turns a bit more and notices you standing there in the open doorway.

There is zero doubt. None. This is him.

This is Ghost.

Fuck you think. Shit shit shit shit.

You step back and Ghost takes a step forward, his hand falling to his sides, his back straightening like he’s about to move toward you.

Everything about him is the same. All broad shoulders, towering height, and imposing darkness. You know it’s him because of the balaclava. That’s the same, too.

You shake your head and take another step backward.

Ghost takes two.

You turn on your heel, and bolt.

[ladymarvel27]

Flowers 🥀 Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Series Master List

Description: With your situation, is even the dinner date feasible?

Word Count: 1610 (oopsies🫢)

f1 masterlist

Carlos is waiting for his luggage. He is already dressed for the date, his brooch shining bright above the pocket of his blazer. His phone vibrates in his pocket. But he has to ignore it as his luggage arrives and he rushes to get it. He checks his wristwatch. “Half past seven!” He mutters under his breath as he takes his luggage and leaves.

After settling in his car, he takes out his phone from his trousers pocket. He keeps pressing the power button, but it won’t turn on. “C’mon! C’mon!” He muttered to himself as he continued pressing the power button. Finally, the screens lit up:

He cursed under his breath. He had to get you a gift. And a bouquet of your favourite flowers. Also, it was getting late too. So, he chose to ignore it. He revs up his car and drives away.

He fixes his collar, holding a small bag with a bouquet tucked under his arm. He presses the doorbell and takes the bouquet in his hand, waiting for you to open the door.

He is met by silence. No shuffling, no thuds, no footsteps. He presses the doorbell again. Same. “Amor!” He calls. “I am back!” He repeatedly presses the doorbell several times before he stops and huffs in frustration.

He opens the front door with an extra key he had. His eyes dart around, your flats lying around near the entrance, and your sandal is neatly placed on the shoe rack. “Y/N!” He calls, “Where are you?!” He goes upstairs, and keeping the bouquet on a table nearby, places the bag in the refrigerator. He went inside the bedroom. Looking around, he noticed the skirt of your dress on the balcony floor. He rushed there to see you lying on the floor. He turns you around to look at your face. “Y/N?” Your eyes were closed and you looked tired.

“Carlos,” you managed to speak out. “Dios mio!” He muttered under his breath and scooped you in his arms. He helped you lay down on the bed and rushed to bring a glass of water with a bottle filled to its brim. He rubbed your back as you rapidly gulped the entire glass.

“You should rest,” he lays you down, covers you with a thin blanket and turns on the air conditioner, closing all the doors. After some minutes of rest, you sit up.

“Hey,” he spoke up, sitting on the edge of the bed near you, “are you fine?” You take a deep breath, resting your back against the pillow. “Why weren’t you picking up my calls?” You ask.

“Oh, mierda! Sorry,” he says as he places his phone on a charger, “my phone was dead.”

“Carlos!” You shouted at him. “You have no idea how worried I was! I called your parents and they had the freaking same problem!” He gets up and wraps his arms around you. “Calm down!”

“Why the hell should I calm down?! I thought you were messing with me again like Tuesday-” “I am sorry,” he hushed and kissed the top of your head, his grip around you tightening, “it was just- I was careless.” You relaxed.

He sat down in front of you and took your hand in his. “I didn’t have time to charge the phone. I was already late. It was already half past seven when I was settling in the car.” He gets up and rushes outside. Your gaze follows him. He returns a few moments later with a bouquet and a bag. “Also, I had to get you-” he says, handing you the flowers, “and your favourite,” he places the bag on your lap. You opened the bag and your face brightened with a smile, it was your favourite dessert, “my favourite indeed!”

He rushes and grabs a plate and spoons. You placed the dessert on the plate and divided it into two parts, taking the bigger one for yourself. He takes the smaller one.

“By the way,” you spoke as he looked up, “you dressed quite well for tonight. You look handsome.” He smiles and blushes.

“For you mi amor.”

After an hour of taking a lot of fluids and some rest, both of you glanced at the clock.

“It’s way past nine now,” you breathed out.

“We can still make it on time if we leave now,” he spoke, taking your hand in his, “only if you’re feeling well now.”

You huff and rest back on the pillow, breathing out. You removed the thin blanket and went to the bathroom while his gaze followed your movement. You stood in front of the mirror, leaning on the sink. Time was running out, and your makeup was ruined indeed. You hastily opened the drawers and took out makeup wipes. There was a knock on the door. You opened the door. “Need any help?” He asked as he looked down at the wipes in your hand. He immediately placed a stool for you to sit in front of the mirror. He took one, and you wiped off the makeup together rapidly.

“So are you well enough to go?” he asked.

“Yes,” you replied. He smiles. “Well then, I must do some touch-ups then, we have only ten minutes.” You nod and get back to washing your face and he leaves.

Some minutes later you come out of the bathroom, your face moisturised and a light lipstick on your lips. But the room was empty. The room door was open and he was nowhere in the house. The doorbell rings. You go downstairs and open the door. He was standing there. “Hi,” he spoke and gave you the bouquet. You take them and reply, “Hi,” placing the flowers in a vase. When you turned you were suddenly scooped by him in his arms. He placed you on the couch. “The pink one, right?”

“What?”

“The sandals,” Oh. You nod. He leaves and comes back with the sandals. He helps you put them on.

“Have you taken everything you want to?” He asks and he opens the car door. “Yes,” you say as you settle on the passenger seat.

“So,” you breathe out, “we still have time?”

He blows air and replies, “For the dinner date, yes. But we will miss the dance.”

“So no couple dance?”

“Hmm,” he says, his focus completely on the road in front as he speeds up. You felt sad and sank into the seat. It was one of the highlights of September that you used to enjoy. The nights were perfect for dancing. You waited so long for this date, and both of you dressed up perfectly to dance together.

“We should have left after it.” You closed your eyes but immediately opened them when you felt a hand on yours. He rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Hey, it’s okay. Your health matters more than it.”

He opened the car and took your hand, leading you to a private dimly lit dining spot. The server brings the food and you two eat in silence. The two of you have small banters. He places his hand on yours and pulls to place a kiss on your knuckles. “I missed you.” He tells you about yesterday’s events. You pick up the glass of water and take a sip. His gaze follows your movement and he says, “You are feeling well, right?” You gulped the water down your throat and putting the glass down you nodded.

He takes your hand in his as you two get up. Your eyes roam from his hand to his face. He smiled as soon as your eyes met his. “Let’s go,” he says and two of you walk out. Even if the night wasn't going on as you two had planned before, you were happy in this moment, walking out after a good dinner date and holding his hand.

You felt him tug and you stopped before turning, “Not there princess.” You raise your eyebrows.

“This way.”

“Why?”

“Just come.” You sigh and follow him.

 He leads you to the backside of the restaurant near a gazebo.

“Good,” he smiles, “no one is here.”

You smirk, “Why are we here?” A lighting chandelier hangs in the middle of the ceiling. His hand goes into the inside pocket of his blazer and retrieves his phone. “Don’t worry, It is fully charged.” You chuckle. He taps on the screen. In a few moments, a song starts playing on the speaker, ‘Until I Found Her’. He places it on a small sill nearby.

“Mi Senorita?” He brings his hand forward, “Will you give me the pleasure to dance with you.” Your face brightened up with a smile as you nod. “Sure,” you take his hand, “I’d love to.” You gasp as he pulls you suddenly towards himself and his other hand finds your waist. You place your hand on his shoulder and start moving to the song.

“Ready for the final song?” You press your lips to his and pull away to nod.

He taps on his phone and ‘Havana’ starts playing. He pulled you closer as you rested your head on his shoulder. He loops one arm around you while the other hand intertwines with your other hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me before we would be doing this?” You ask while the two start to walk out of the gazebo. As soon as you step on the edge, flowers fall on you.

“Surprise makes you happier,” he chuckles.

“Oh my, Carlos!” You laugh as you brush them off from yourself.

“Especially when it is least expected," he says, smiling ear to ear.

Seperators credit: @saradika-graphics @saradika

Taglist: @faithshouseofchaos @itsjustvs4 @sunny44 @raynetargaryan2 @chaoswithus

A/n: Sorry for the delays everyone. School and sickness came together.😞 It was my first time writing Carlos fic series, I know this is mini but I enjoyed writing it.

[ttjisung]

back 2 u 𝜗𝜚

p. jisung x fem!reader smau

in which jisung does his best to avoid you, his ex, until he realizes his mistake far too late cw: suggestive themes, bad angst, cheating, swearing

i'm not going back, back, back, back, back

masterlist

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chapter i. (wc: 1.1k)

“I just don’t get it Yang… He was supposed to be my soulmate.” You sobbed into your best friend’s shoulder for the hundredth time in the day, more tears forming at the memory of your abrupt break-up. 

Yangyang simply sighed, holding you closer while offering you another tissue. “He’s an asshole, Y/n. Just forget about him.” You quickly shook your head in denial, forcing yourself further into the male’s arms. Dejun, your other best friend, cringed in pity at the scene. You looked horrible - your hair disheveled, your eyes puffy and red, and your clothes very obviously dirty. 

It had been three days since Park Jisung called you to his apartment, telling you he knew about your ‘secret’ and announcing your relationship was over. You were left confused and heartbroken outside of Jisung’s door, holding a random cardboard box full of your own belongings. You tried reasoning with him for well over half an hour until he seemingly got tired of you and kicked you out to the curb, leading you to cry your heart out to your friends instead. You wondered if this was affecting him as much as it was affecting you. Although he seemed reserved to others, you had spent enough time with him to learn about his emotional nature. Nonetheless, there was no way to know about his state, considering all of your mutual friends had taken his side, blocking you after cussing you out. It was as if your world had completely shifted that day, only leaving behind your own two best friends to pick you up and take care of you, because God knows you weren’t going to. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Jisung broke up with you. For some reason, he thought you had cheated on him. Unknowingly to him, there was no truth behind this accusation considering you were deeply in love with him and would never think about hurting him in such a manner. The fact that you were innocent only added to your frustration, trying to reach out to him in several ways to explain yet he wouldn’t allow you.

In a desperate last attempt, you messaged your old best friend Huang Renjun who had actually set the two of you up, only to find out your message never went through. He had blocked you as well, alongside every other friend of his you knew. Dejun, furious at them for not even listening to you, took your phone as soon as you arrived at his shared apartment with Yangyang, blocking them all back except for Jisung, only because you begged him not to. In your head, soon he’d realize his mistake and message you, reconciling immediately. It had been two days since you last messaged him though, and the hope was slipping through your fingers due to his radio silence. His threat to block you was a sign enough that he had no interest in speaking to you.

“I… I know he said not to message him, but maybe I could show up to his place? He can’t block me in real life…” Your friends were quick to voice their disagreement with your plan, Yangyang taking the lead. “Look, Y/n, I’m sorry but maybe it’s time to maybe contemplate moving on. If he truly cared he would have listened to you by now.” “You don’t get it Yang, obviously he thinks I cheated on him so naturally he won’t believe me. I just have to show him I didn’t.” You reasoned, earning concerned glances from your friends. You didn’t realize how delusional you sounded, yet you were too sensitive to get made fun of so they held back, simply consoling you further.

Despite the constant warnings from your friends, you were dead-set on getting Jisung to listen to you, so you did as you planned, buying his favorite food and some flowers as a gift and making your way to his familiar apartment. Alongside the gifts, you had written him a letter explaining the situation, just in case he wasn’t home.

It took you fifteen minutes to gain the courage to enter the elevator, yet you eventually did it. Pressing the number to his floor, you fidgeted uncomfortably at the silence until the doors slowly opened, allowing you to walk to his door. 

Just as you were about to gently knock your fist on his door, you heard three familiar voices. Huang Renjun, Lee Donghyuck, and of course, Park Jisung. You subconsciously smiled, having missed hearing them, and although it added to the nerves, you felt more determined to walk inside and prove your innocence. That was until you heard what the familiar voices were saying. 

“She was kind of annoying sometimes, honestly.” Donghyuck was the first voice you were able to make out, although muffled, making you press your ear closer to hear what he was saying. “You cursed Ji by setting them up, Jun.” A laugh came out from his mouth. “It’s not my fault dude, I didn’t know she was weird like that.” “It’s fine. I won’t be answering her anyway.” It had been so long since you had heard Jisung’s voice, and although the familiar tone made you want to smile, understanding what he was saying had the opposite effect, and before you realized it, there were several tears running down your face. “I have some chicks that asked me for your number, Ji. Maybe it’s time to rebound.” Your heart broke at Donghyuck’s suggestion. You two hadn’t been as close as you and Renjun, yet you still considered him someone you cared for, so to hear him sabotage your relationship in such a manner made you deeply upset. You held your breath waiting for Jisung’s response, hoping he’d deny. “I think I’m good.” Your heart swelled with hope for a second before it broke again at his next words, “Actually, maybe. Text me their numbers.” 

Not wanting to hear anything further, you left the gifts at his door. You muffled your own sobs with your hands, slipping the letter on top of the items, yet a cry made it through and you panicked realizing footsteps were approaching the door. Quickly rushing to the end of the hallway where there was a blind spot, you heard it opening. “Holy shit, she’s a stalker Ji.” “That’s it… I’m blocking her.” 

You regretted coming, cursing yourself for not listening to your friends. After hearing the voices stop and the door shut again, you waited a minute before returning to the hallway. It wasn’t until you neared the elevator that you saw your gifts in the trash can near his unit, with the letter sitting idly on top of the other garbage. 

You dissociated for the rest of your walk home, falling onto your bed and immediately falling asleep, yet making sure to block him back before. You decided you would listen to Yangyang and Dejun from now on.

Maybe it was time to move on.  

a/n: haechan when i catch you...

[dreamingofaizawa]

Violent Tendencies - Please

Sheriff! John Price x AFAB! Fem! Reader

~Small Town AU~ (John's POV)

***This piece contains mature content. If you're not 18 or older, make yourself scarce***

Warnings: Anxiety/anxious behavior, hints at paranoia(?), John being a horndog again, mentions of sex and sexual acts, descriptions of sexual acts, John being a cheeky bastard (I love him tho ;-;), John being a lovesick puppy, menstrual cycles, dirty talk, blood kink (oh yeah baby), mentions of fingering and oral sex, setup for period sex

Word Count: 3.1k

Author's Note: Welp. Didn't plan on this but here we are! No, I seriously did not intend to have two different parts specifically for a blood kink. I don't know what's possessed me. Sorry for blueballing y'all btw next part is gonna be ALL smut I promise. Also, IDGAF if he's OOC. Y'all can pry him out of my cold, dead hands.

Series Masterlist

Part One Here - Part Eleven

Enjoy~

***

He wakes from slumber at the sound of his phone ringing. He knows it’s you by the ringtone, something he’d kept different just so he knew you were calling. He’s groggy, still waking up, but there’s a tingle at the back of his skull that worries why you’re calling from work so late.

“Tempest.” 

“J-john?” You’re crying. He’s up in a heartbeat, ready to bolt from the house to come straight to you.

“What is it, baby? What happened?” You must hear the panic in his voice, because your reply is frantic.

“Nothing! Nothing happened, I promise I’m okay. I just missed you.” His heart’s frenzied, but he starts to calm. This is one of those nights you were talking about. The ones where your anxiety is getting the best of you, and you panic at the mere thought that he could be in danger. After your first admittance that you feared for his life, he noticed more. More doting, more holding, more looking to make sure he was there. You’re nervous, even after the wedding. The two of you have had several conversations about it, trying to work through just why you were so terrified of losing him. The last conversation you had he made you promise to call him, no matter what, even if it was just to hear him breathe over the speaker.

“Miss you too, baby. How’s work?” He lies back down once his heart rate returns to normal, putting the call on speaker as he nestles into the pillow. 

“Boring, like always. The grease on the stove was extra stubborn today.” His eyelids are heavy, and he’s already drifting as he listens to you drone on about what you’ve done at work so far. He doesn’t know when he fell asleep fully, but there’s a weight settling into his side and he can smell you before he fully realizes you’re home. He’s still out of it, but he can feel your hands roaming over his body, checking him over.

It’s a process that becomes familiar, after a while. At least once a week you’ll call in the middle of your shift just to hear him. Every time, you babble on about something and he falls asleep to the sound of your voice. Every time, without fail, you’ll crawl into bed beside him after coming home and ghost your hands over his body, feel his heart beating, feel his chest rising and falling. It’s a ritual that calms you, soothes your anxieties. Eventually, if it gets too serious, he’ll have you talk to your therapist. For now, he’ll just let your voice lull him into the throes of slumber over the phone.

He’d checked once how long the calls lasted, and when he realized they went on for hours at a time, he knew you’d just listen to him snore away on the other end. He falls asleep so easily listening to you, there’s no way he’s actually awake for those long hours. If hearing him snore like a goddamn chainsaw helps, then he’s content doing just that. Hell, he’d find a way to snore louder if it kept you from spiraling. 

The calls do become less frequent, though. It takes a couple months, but you calm significantly. You don’t need to obsess over him when you come home, content just curling into his side with a sweet kiss. You still cling to him like a koala. 

He’s not complaining at all. 

He loves the way you latch onto him, really. It’s a little selfish, if he’s being honest, constantly wanting to feel you up against him. Too many times he’s gotten hard in his sweats when you come up and wrap your arms around him, face in his chest, leaving a sweet kiss to his pec over his heart and staring up at him with those big watery eyes. Or when you’re lacing your hand in his and that silver band on your finger glints, the blue stone shining against your skin, a stark reminder that you’re his and he’s yours. Sex is a little more common because of it.

He’ll pin you to the bed at least twice a day, before and after your weekday shifts, and weekends are spent going until one of you gets hungry or passes the fuck out. He can’t help the way his grins, cheeky and satisfied, when you try to get up to pee but your legs wobble beneath you so bad you just flop back onto the bed. He knows how much of a little shit he’s being when he laughs as he’s carrying you princess-style to go piss. You’re always slapping at his chest when he does it, miffed about the whole thing. 

“Fucking can it, Price. It’s not my fault you’re a damn horndog all the fucking time. You’re the one who made my legs useless, now shut up and carry me damnit.” You’re not really mad though, he can tell, because every time you say it you’re fighting a smile. 

“Oh it’s Price now, huh?” You pout when he goads you, do your business while he takes the dirty sheets off the bed. He’s surprised you can make it to the sink in your state, but then he turns and sees you wince while you try to stretch your legs out and it tugs at his heartstrings. He’s feeling a little sore himself, but definitely nowhere near what you’re probably suffering through. It’s so easy to come up behind you and wrap his arms around you, easier still to kiss your shoulder and neck and hum into your ear.

“Pretty woman. Want me to kiss it all better, baby?” He grins, a little stupidly, when you roll your eyes. You’re fighting a smirk.

“Save it for someone who cares, Price.” Now it’s his turn to pout.

“You’re my wife, Tempest. You’re supposed to care.” You soften. You always do when he calls you his wife. It’s a little soft spot you have for him, as if you’re not already soft no matter what when it comes to him.

“I know, love. I’m just a little sore. Gotta give me a break or I’m gonna break, John.” Your cheek is soft beneath his lips, and he adores the way you lean into him.

“I know, my wife. How does a bath sound?” You melt a little further into him, and if he had a little less self control he’d roll around in bed with you again.

“Sounds nice.” 

You do love your baths, he learns. Hot, steamy baths with nice smelling soaps and some soft music. You’ve dragged him in and he can’t say he hates them. He’s just always shocked by how hot the water is. It’s boiling. Does wonders for the aching muscles though, and his back always feels better afterwards. 

He also knows you love your baths when you’re on your period.

You never let him in those baths though.

“Fuckin’ hate being a woman.” It’s groaned out as you pull your knees to your chest in the tub. He can see you from his spot on the bed, some nature documentary droning on the old tv you’ve got in the bedroom that you rarely ever use. He chuckles at the statement, which gets your gaze on him. The glare you shoot him lacks heat, but you’re definitely miffed. And definitely in pain. The hot water seems to be helping marginally, and the ibuprofen you’d downed is probably just now kicking in.

“Sorry baby, it was a little funny.” You raise your eyebrow at him, the cutest little challenge in your eyes. He loves when you get testy, though he knows he really shouldn’t. He doesn’t push your buttons, not wanting to genuinely distress you when your hormones are out of whack and you can’t control how you feel about things. 

“Funny how?” He smiles at you in hopes it’ll disarm you, hopes you’ll relax and be a little less defensive and tense. You don’t need that right now, don’t need the stress from something so little. 

“Cause you don’t really hate being a woman.” He can see you relax into the water, body releasing some tension. A cramp must have subsided.

“Sure. But right now I’m suffering.” He laughs again at the very clearly exaggerated dramatics in your tone, and this time you laugh with him. He’d kill to hear that laugh more often.

“You’re so beautiful, Tempest.” All you do is smile and stare at him while he stares at you. He can never get enough of you. 

“You’re quite the looker yourself, handsome. Wanna come here and give your wife a kiss?” Of course he does. He’s by your side in an instant, holding your face gently and kissing you like you were his only source of oxygen. He loves you so much. He wants to feel you, wants to hold you and touch you so bad. You blanch when he starts to strip down to his skin. “John, what did I say about my period baths?” He groans, a bit dramatic really, but keeps stripping.

“Can’t a husband hold his wife in the bath?” 

“It’s gross! There’s probably little blood clots floating around in the water beneath all these bubbles.” He raises an eyebrow at you, standing to the side as you stare up at him. You’re pointedly ignoring the way his cock twitches to life.

“You’re sitting in that ‘gross blood clot water’ why can’t I? Besides, it’s not like we haven’t dealt with blood before.” You huff at him.

“This is different.” He pouts at you, kneeling on the cold tile and leaning his forehead on yours.

“I just want to hold you, my pretty wife. I don’t care about the blood. Just need to be close to you.” You soften at that. He knows he’s being greedy, knows he’s being selfish, but he can’t help himself. He needs to hold you, needs to feel your skin beneath his palms and feel you breathing with your back against his chest. “Please?” If you say no, he’ll drop it. He will. But he’s begging.

He’s only ever begged one other person for something, and that was his therapist in juvie. He can remember the desperation that coursed through his veins. When he’d said it may be better to keep you two separate, he was distraught. When he mentioned a restraining order? In a split second he was on his knees beside the man’s desk, hands flat over the surface with his forehead pressed to the cold metal.

“No, no you can’t. Please don’t keep her from me.” He didn’t even look to see the shock in his expression, but he could hear it, the voice of a psychologist who’s slipped completely out of his professional shell. 

“What in the world? I’m not going to just let you fight each other.” Only then does he look to see the bewilderment on his psychologist’s face. 

“I swear we’ll never fight again. Please.” The confusion only deepens at the statement.

“John, why are you so desperate for this?” At that he hesitates. He knows why he’s desperate, he knows he’s fallen head over heels in love with you. There’s no other explanation for it, really. You were so beautiful, a spitfire of fury that stared into the hole in his chest and smiled. Up until you showed up, his life has been nothing but dull and lifeless. Dread follows him around like a shadow, fear rearing into anger whenever his biological benefactor took out his own stressors on his flesh and blood. Everything is always gray, dark and dreary in a sludge of exhaustion and dull rage. It was the same when you broke his nose. But during the fight he started to feel. Feel your bright red bleeding into him, feel your vibrant vicious anger flooding his bloodstream. The energy you had was infectious, seeping into his skin and turning everything sharp. Nothing like when he’d pummeled his father, everything going dark and bottomless and empty.

And when you looked at him? He was a goner. You stared at him with red seeping from your lip, collarbone already swelling, and you just looked so happy. Suddenly the sky was too damn blue, then his lungs felt heavy in his chest, and every breath felt too full. He couldn’t exhale enough air out before sucking more in. He was floating.

Yeah, he’s lovestruck.

But he doesn’t know if admitting it will help him. The shrink might just put him on a psych hold for this kind of confession. 

“John. Whatever your answer is, you have my word it will not have extreme ramifications. I just need to know if the restraining order is necessary, for any reason.” The professionalism is back, now. He’s got that purposefully calm therapist voice he usually hates. Not right now though, he’s too focused on making sure he’ll be able to talk to you for once.

“I love her. I love her to my grave.” The shrink actually jumps in his seat at the confession.

“You…love her? John, she broke your nose. You broke her collarbone.” The concern laced into his voice makes him think maybe that restraining order is about to be used for a different reason.

“Please. I can’t explain it. I know it sounds crazy, I know it sounds fucking crazy. But it’s true.” The man sucks in a deep breath, adjusts in his seat. John waits with bated breath.

“Try. Try to explain it.” 

“Everything’s sharper now. Everything’s clear, like a fog lifted and I can see the details of my hands instead of a vague shape with five spindles. Fuck, colors are brighter. I thought I was going crazy yesterday, thought she hit me too damn hard and I was seeing things, because the grass outside looked neon green and the clouds glowed white. But I've slept it off and been cleared by the nurse and everything’s still so bright.” The man only nods, scribbling something into his notes. John knows he’s rambling, but he can’t really stop himself.

“And I could swear she saw into my soul yesterday. She looked at the damned thing and grinned like a maniac. Her smile is so bright, too. And I can’t fucking breathe normally anymore. Every single time I think about her it’s like there’s too much air in my lungs.” 

“Alright, alright John. I think I get it. You don’t need to explain any further.” But I want to.

“But she’s gorgeous. Red-hot rage, brilliant and explosive and…” There’s this look on the shrink’s face like he’s suddenly figured it all out. John swallows the rest of his words. “Please don’t separate us. I don’t think I could handle it.” He probably couldn’t. He’s been in here a month and it was all shit. Everything pissed him off, everyone was breathing too damn loud or existing in the wrong places.

If he had to try to survive that without being able to be around the one person he’s found to love in this world? He’d go mad. Because he doesn’t want to lose you when he’s just found you. You, who looks at him with more than just disinterested, diluted rage. More than an empty shell of fear and dissociated recognition. More than a calculated scrutiny or an instant anxiety. In a single minute you’ve changed his life forever, and it should piss him off but all he can seem to feel is a gravitational desire to be around you and hold you and love you. The silence is starting to kill him. He’s still on his knees, an ache forming in his kneecaps from the hard tile and the tension as he waits for an answer.

You sigh, shoulders dropping down into the still steaming water.

“Fine. You look like a kicked puppy, you know.” Relief floods his bloodstream, elation taking over as he slips into the water behind you and tugs you into his chest. He doesn’t hesitate to breathe you in, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing little kisses to your skin. My pretty wife. You grab his hand and tug it low, pressing his palm into the pouch of your stomach with a little groan. He can feel the muscles kicking and tensing as you squirm, and he holds pressure into the area until you relax again.

“Better?” You nod, whine a little when a little cramp makes your breath hitch for a moment.

“A little. Not a whole lot else you can do, though. I just gotta push through like I always do.” Yeah, you really do just deal with it. He’s seen this so many times over the last year and a half living with you, watched you suffer all on your own. If there were a way to transfer and share pain, he’d do it in a heartbeat. You always look so miserable. But he does have an idea.

“You know, there is one other thing we can try, baby.” You hum, leaning into his chest while he holds you. It’s something he’d seen once by chance. “An orgasm is supposed to help with the cramping, is it not?” The way your whole body tenses makes him think maybe it wasn’t the best idea. 

“You wanna fuck me in this state?” Oh he’d absolutely fuck you like this. It’s something he’s a little ashamed to admit, since you seem to hate the blood so much. But this isn’t about him right now. The red would look so pretty between your thighs, smearing over his cock. He shakes the thoughts away, even though he’s already rock hard.

“I never said that, baby. I mean you are getting an orgasm.” You squirm in his hold, clearly a little uncomfortable. “We don’t have to. You don’t seem all that happy about it.” You shake your head.

“It’s not that it’s just…” You huff, your thighs squeezing together. Maybe he should have brought it up sooner. “The blood feels gross, but I’ve just had an image of you covered in it between my thighs and now I’m horny as all hell.” Ah yes, you’re conflicted. He can help.

“It would feel so good, baby. Fuck all that extra slick, my fingers could reach you so easy, press all your favorite spots eh? I bet you’d taste wonderful too.” Your quiet little moan is something he’d die for. He’s never been harder in his life, and the thought of tasting the iron on his tongue has him a little light headed. “What do you say, wife? Gonna let me take care of you? Make you feel good?” He nearly cums against your back when you tilt your head back and look up at him, glassy-eyed and flustered and oh so desperate.

“Please.”

[thenovelartist]

Death Cannot Stop Love (All it Can Do is Delay it) - Chapter 3 - Honkai: Star Rail fanfiction

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter >>

On the day they were supposed to travel to Styxia, Stelle woke groggily. As was her habit, she reached over to Dan Heng’s empty side of the bed, expecting to run her hand longingly over the cold sheets.

Instead, her hand hit Castorice’s shoulder.

Oh, right. She had Castorice over for a slumber party. And they’d stayed up late. No wonder she was still groggy.

Beyond talking about boys and teasing Castorice to pieces, they’d taken a bath, Stelle did Castorice's hair, and then Castorice had taught Stelle a dance from her childhood. Stelle had never seen Castorice brimming with such unadulterated joy before.

After that, it had taken some convincing to get Castorice comfortable sharing a bed. Stelle was loathing this whole cold bed thing, so it would have been nice to not be alone. She'd told Castorice that sharing a bed was what she and March did all the time at slumber parties, but Castorice only acquiesced when Stelle assured her she wasn’t getting any deader.

Actually, that wasn’t true. She could get deader, and that was something she wanted to avoid. With a shred of hope finally in her grasp, Stelle felt it was easier to cling to life. Not that the prospect of spending a long life with Dan Heng wasn’t convincing enough to keep pressing on, but when the clock was ticking down with no leads to be found and Dan Heng away for research, she began to wonder what point there was to fighting. If she couldn’t spend the rest of her days with Dan Heng, what did it matter?

Curious as to the time, Stelle reached over to grab her phone. Under the clock was a notification informing her of a message from Dan Heng.

Dan Heng: I’ll be home today. I’m sorry, but I haven’t found anything pertinent to your case. Have you had any luck on your end?

Stelle: Castorice and I might have a lead to Thanatos. We’ll be leaving this morning, so I won’t be here when you arrive.

She waited for a text back in response. Instead, her phone lit up with a call. Her ringer blared in the quiet space, and Stelle slapped the accept button, desperately hoping the sound didn’t wake Castorice. “Hello,” she whispered.

“It’s me,” Dan Heng spoke. “How are you fairing?”

Stelle crawled out of bed, intending to take the call outside. She glanced over to Castorice. That girl could sleep like the dead, couldn’t she? She hadn’t so much as flinched, still clinging to her dromas plushie. Oof, that thing was… well-loved. “I’m hanging,” she answered, quickly shuffling out of the room to the balcony. “By a thread, but I’m hanging.”

“Don’t break yet,” he said. “You’ve got this.”

Those words, however simple they were, strengthened her resolve. “I’m the galactic baseballer. Of course I’ve got this.”

“That’s my girl.”

And those words, in contrast to the first, broke her. What she wouldn’t give to be called “his girl” for the next several decades to come.

“What’s this lead you and Castorice have?” he asked.

“Apparently, Styxia had been found. You know, the land of the dead.”

“That does sound like a promising lead.”

“Aglaea is forcing one of the Chrysos Heirs to take us there this morning.”

“So you’ll be setting out soon?”

“Yeah. Sorry I won’t be here when you return.”

“That’s why I called," he quietly admitted. "I wanted to hear your voice.”

She felt tears prickling her eyes as she slid down the wall to the ground. “I’m glad I got to hear your voice, too. I've missed you.”

“I've missed you, too.” His voice was warm and gentle, like a blanket Stelle could wrap herself up in. She'd prefer to be wrapped in his arms, but she supposed this was the best she could get for now. “Do you have to leave now, or do you have time?”

“No, I think we’ve got another hour and a half before we have to meet Cipher. Enough time for breakfast and to get ready. Though, I have a feeling waking Castorice is going to be worse than waking March.”

“Have you not been able to reach her?”

“It’s not that,” Stelle said. “We had a sleepover. Oh, so everything is going to be a mess when you get back.”

“That’s fine,” he assured, not a hint of the exasperation Stelle had been expecting in his voice. “Did you have a fun time?”

“I liked not being alone,” she admitted. “It’s really not the same without you around.”

He sighed, a pause lingering in the air between them. “I felt the same when you left to the grove.”

“I realize that now. I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past. And we both needed that time.”

She still felt a little guilty. “Hey, Dan Heng.”

“Yes, Stelle?”

She paused, fighting for the right words. Absently, she began twisting her wedding ring around her finger. “When I get back… I… can we promise not to leave each other alone? I mean… we got married for a reason. I don’t want to be separated again.”

“I don’t, either,” he agreed. “When you return, we’ll stick together from then on.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

A small smile graced Stelle’s lips as she curled into a ball, knees to her chest. A gentle warmth bloomed from her heart. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They chatted absently for a while longer before Stelle heard an alarm go off behind her.

One that turned off suspiciously quickly.

“Sorry,” Stelle said. “That’s my cue to go.”

“Stay safe, Starlight,” Dan Heng said reverently. “And… come back.”

Stelle’s entire chest tightened. What had she been thinking? That she could just slip quietly away without a trace? The guilt piled on her shoulders. No matter how many deaths she faced, either hers or others, she had to keep trekking on. She couldn’t leave him to continue this arduous journey alone. “What’s a moon without his star to illuminate it?” she said, her voice cracking. She took a breath to steady herself. “I’ll be back. I promised to fist-fight an aeon for you, right?”

“You did.”

“So a titan shouldn’t be a problem.”

There was a touch of mirth in his voice as he answered, “Right. Go. I’ll be waiting for your return.”

“I can’t wait. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She didn’t say goodbye, nor did she wait to hear his. She didn’t want to hear those words at all. They seemed too final with her life hanging in the balance, the scales slowly tipping out of her favor. She would go battle Thanatos, and when she came back, she’d be the greedy little trash thief she was and steal everything. The fights, the kisses, the wars, the victories, the injuries, the quiet times, the date nights. There would be nothing remaining of Dan Heng that wouldn’t belong to her. She wanted a life with him. A real life. Their marriage was fake, and their courtship was obscured by them playing pretend. Just like her presence here, it was just an illusion.

Castorice's words last night haunted her, but she'd been correct. It was time to be truthful. From here on, Stelle refused to entertain anything fake. They would be real, or not at all.

Toying with the ring on her finger, she stood and walked back into the room. First thing she noticed was Castorice on the bed, flipped over with her back now toward the balcony.  

“I woke you, didn’t I?” Stelle asked.

Castorice slowly sat up. “No, it’s fine. I'm sorry; I wasn’t trying to listen.”

Stelle shrugged. “Not exactly state secrets going around.” Luckily, she didn’t mention anything about their marriage being fake. But at this point… she wondered if it mattered. The original point of their marriage was protection, but now they knew they could trust the people here, more or less. Would it matter if their marriage secret was revealed now?

“We should get ready to go,” Stelle suggested. “We can eat breakfast on the way. I don’t really want to keep that fickle feline waiting.”

“That would not be a wise idea.” Castorice then looked at her things and frowned. “Oh, we’ll have to take a detour to my house—”

“Don’t worry about it. You can come back to get them when we return.”

“Are you sure? Isn't Dan Heng coming back?”

“I told him you were here. It will be fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Totally. Just be sure to give your dromas a good pat on the head and tell it goodbye.”

Castorice chuckled, hugging said plush close to her chest. “It would probably appreciate that.”

Stelle dressed first, letting Castorice collect her things and put them in her bag.

Then, while Castorice dressed, Stelle sent off a text to Dan Heng. If on the off-chance it was to be the last thing she texted him, she wanted to leave no regrets.

Stelle: We’re heading off. Castorice’s things will be here when you get back and the bed will be a mess. Sorry.

Dan Heng: That’s fine. I don’t mind.

Stelle: I love you.

Stelle: And I love being married to you. Even if it’s only pretend.

Dan Heng: Don’t say that like it’s the end.

Stelle hesitated. But… what if it was? She absently thought. It wasn’t a happy thought, but there was a chance…

Dan Heng: Please come back to me.

He was right. She needed to return. She needed to. But she also knew there were no promises in this life.

Stelle: I will.

Stelle: I love you.

Dan Heng: I love you, too.

Okay. She could die with that. Not that she wanted to. Or was going to. Because she needed to keep fighting.

Just a little longer…

She took a breath as she put her phone away, turning to see Castorice waiting.

“Ready?” Castorice asked.

Stelle nodded. She could hang on just a little longer, and then one way or another, this nightmare would all be over. “Ready.”

~~~

The headache came on so fast and hard that Stelle almost collapsed.

Her time was almost up.

But Castorice was flying off to Thanatos. They were so close.

So… close…

“Just hang on!” Mem cried from her side.

It was the last thing Stelle heard before she did fall to her knees. She didn’t have much in terms of processing power, but one horrible, haunting thought ran like a scrolling marquee across her mind.

You are going to die.

Her heart was in shambles. No. She couldn’t die. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t leave Dan Heng. She wanted to marry him for real. She wanted to travel the galaxy with him. She was supposed to spend years by his side. She couldn’t leave him alone, not when he’d lost so much already.

He told her he loved her.

He’d given her a pet name.

He’d protected her and cared for her and cherished her.

This wasn’t how their story was supposed to end.

She felt something wet run down her cheeks as she collapsed to the ground, sprawled flat in the dirt. She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t leave Dan Heng.

I have to go home to him. I promised.

That last text suddenly wasn’t enough. Their last call wasn’t enough. Their parting, the last time they saw each other, wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

She'd been naive to think she'd leave with no regrets. She regretted everything.

Until her head hurt too much to regret any longer.

~~~

“Stelle?”

The stabbing headache slowly faded. Once she felt her breathing even out, Stelle opened her eyes. A bed of flowers greeted her. This was not where she’d fainted. So was she… dead?

Her body felt heavy, her movements sluggish. Castorice knelt before her, hand extended. Thankful for the assist, Stelle took hold, allowing Castorice to pull her to her feet.

“Are you okay now?” Castorice asked.

“Y-yeah,” Stelle stuttered out. Then it clicked in her mind. “Wait, did you…”

Castorice smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “Allow me to reintroduce myself. I bore the name Castorice walking among the mortal realm, but now I stand before you as Thanatos, the living side of death. Welcome to my realm, where the west wind ends.”

Stelle looked around at the sea of flowers. Yet, she could not appreciate its beauty, not when her heart still ached. “Does this mean I’m… officially dead?”

Castorice shook her head. “No. I shall open the gate of the nether realm and return you to the land of the living.”

That promise settled Stelle’s churning stomach, slowly easing the weight on her shoulders. “So… I can go back home?”

The smile Castorice gave Stelle was reassuring and full of promise. “Yes. I promised to do everything in my power, didn’t I? Consider this a one-time exception for the one life—the only life—I can save. But you must resist the sweet allure of the whispers of death, or they will pull you back here. In return, I ask that you take the coreflame of death with you to complete the flamechase journey.”

She wasn’t dead. She could go home. Her life was hers to live.

Her life was hers to give to Dan Heng.

Stelle's knees were so shaky she could collapse again, this time from relief. A smile stretched across her lips. “That’s a pretty fair exchange for letting me have my second chance. But… I guess that means you’re not coming home with me.”

Sadness touched her expression as Castorice shook her head. “I won’t. But I leave with no regrets.”

Once again, separation. As a trailblazer who'd met so many people, Stelle knew that every hello would eventually result in a goodbye. But the goodbyes she bid here… these were ten times worse knowing they were final. “I’m beginning to really hate this ‘parting of ways’ thing.”

“I… shouldn’t have an opinion.”

“But?”

Castorice heaved a sigh. “I hate it, too.”

“You’re allowed to feel that way, you know.”

“Even though I am the demigod of death?”

“I think that’s what makes you the perfect demigod of death. If you didn’t have mercy and kindness… you’d be no different than the black tide.”

Clearly her words had surprised Castorice, but slowly, her surprise morphed to acceptance. “As always, you never fail to surprise me. I shall hold on to that.”

Stelle grinned. “Well… I should clarify that you’re almost perfect as the demigod of death.”

“Oh?”

Tears started to well in Stelle’s eyes. “Because it means you have to leave and I’m gonna miss you.”

For a moment, she thought Castorice’s eyes turned red, too. “I’m going to miss you, too.” Castorice then reached out to hug Stelle. “Forgive me, but if I may steal one last embrace…”

“Pshhh.” Stelle threw her arms around Castorice, holding her tight. “As if you have to ask.”

“Thank you, Stelle. For everything.”

“No, thank you, Castorice. For everything.”

~~~

Upon leaving the nether realm, Stelle couldn’t stop thinking about how she was going to burst through the doors to her shared room with Dan Heng, run up to him, throw herself into his arms, and hold him tighter than she’d ever held him before.

Instead, she found herself staring at the doors, hesitant to even touch them. She’d promised Castorice she would cherish the relationship she had with Dan Heng. That she’d never take it for granted.

It hurt to acknowledge that she’d been doing just that.

Stelle knew what she wanted, what she needed. This ring on her hand needed to mean more than what it already did, meaning she needed to be truthful with Dan Heng. So why was she hesitating? All she had to do was open the door and ask Dan Heng to marry her for real. It was so simple.

And she was so scared.

He's waiting for you.

With that thought in mind, she forced herself to place her shaking hands on the door. Baby steps, she told herself. Instead of a proposal, she’d say whatever came out of her mouth first. She was good at that. It was one of her many talents.

With a fortifying breath, she shoved open the doors and marched into the room.

And her ability to speak suddenly vanished. So much for her talent.

The creak of the hinges was extra loud in her ears. As was the thump of the doors closing behind her. Dan Heng was on the chaise lounge by the scrolls, book in his hand. His eyes were wide with surprise as he stared at her. “Stelle…”

Emotion hit her like a train. She now knew exactly how much damage Sunday took when Pom-pom had driven the Astral Express into him.

She lifted her hands in an almost shrug, not knowing what to do with them. “I’m alive.” Her voice cracked at the end, her lip quivering too strongly to pronounce those two tiny words clearly. She could feel her face heat from the exertion of trying to keep it together, but her vision was already beginning to swim with tears.

Dan Heng practically threw his book aside as he stood from his seat, striding up to her.

With two steps, she closed the distance between them. She’d never know who threw their arms around the other first. She only knew she shattered when he did. Fisting her hands into his jacket, she clung to him as her knees buckled beneath her. The sobs she’d been withholding clawed out of her throat, choking her in the process as rivers of tears flowed down her cheeks.

Dan Heng tightened his fierce embrace around her, yet even he hadn't the strength to keep them upright. Slowly, they sank to the floor until they were a puddle of entangled limbs.

All the emotions she’d been holding back these last fifteen days for his sake finally made themselves known in the loudest, ugliest way possible. In contrast, Dan Heng's tears slipped free in a much quieter manner. Or maybe he wasn’t all that quiet and she was just loud enough to cover them.

Stelle didn't know how long they stayed like that, Dan Heng slowly rubbing her back and stroking her hair until she settled. By the time she'd let loose the worst of her withheld heartbreak, she'd found herself cradled safely in his lap.

“Welcome back,” he finally said, his own voice breaking at the end.

She sniffed. Absently, she hoped she wasn’t snotting all over Dan Heng’s shoulder, but she really couldn’t bring herself to care at the moment. “I’m back.”

In the moments that followed, Stelle decided that any confession she had intended to say could wait. Not because she didn’t want to say anything. Not because it didn’t need to be said. Not because she didn’t cherish him enough. But rather because right now, she was alive, she was here with Dan Heng, she was home,

And there was nothing more important than that.

~~~

Stelle was struggling to keep on her brave face. Her lips and cheeks were raw from how hard she was biting them in an attempt to ground herself. By her side was Dan Heng, who was holding her hand tightly in his. It was the glue holding her together when all she wanted to do was collapse to pieces. She needed another day or two to fully pull herself back together.

But she didn't have that time, hence she marched to the Vortex with her head held high as she prepared to present Thanatos’ coreflame in Castorice’s place.

“Aglaea!” an all-too-cheery Phainon called out. “We’re back! Come welcome our great hero reborn from the ashes.”

She forced her smile to stretch wider than it should have. While she was happy to be back, the terror of having died wouldn’t let go of its icy grip on her spine. She normally ran hot, courtesy of her stellaron, but currently, she was chilled to the bone.

Aglaea looked them over, her empty eyes ironically sharp. Stelle felt like if anyone was going to notice her inner turmoil, it would be Aglaea. Part of her was terrified that a golden thread would dance its way to her and disintegrate her carefully crafted illusion.

Stay strong, she warned herself. Phainon hadn’t seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary when he’d come to collect them, and Stelle doubted Anaxa cared enough to point out anything strange. Meaning she only had to fool Aglaea and Trinnon. With her luck, Trinnon would be too meek to mention anything and Aglaea too wise to make a comment.

Thankfully, Aglaea didn’t make any remark as she looked them over. “I don’t see Castorice among your number.”

Stelle’s heart squeezed in her chest. She bit her lip, the metallic taste of blood hitting her tongue.

The silence was loud enough to answer.

“It looks like she not only helped me prove my theory,” Anaxa said, “but helped you fulfill your mission as well.”

Stelle hardly recalled how she answered. It was a struggle to keep her voice from wavering. Her emotions were all over the place, and it took everything she had to rein them in. It was a blessing when she had to submit the coreflame, her back to everyone so no one could see her smile slip. Trinnon’s chanting filled the silence, helping take Stelle mind off sad things.

But then an echo of Castorice had to appear and test Stelle’s resolve.

“Onwards, for your path to the future is bright.”

Stelle took a deep breath. That’s right. Even though Castorice’s loss stung, she hadn’t sent Stelle back to the mortal realm to mope. She’d done so for Stelle to live a fulfilling life.

I can do this, Stelle told herself. It was just enough of a steadying echo to temporarily fortify her quaking resolve.

“I suppose it’s my turn,” Anaxa then spoke.

While he shared one final conversation with Phainon, Stelle slipped back to Dan Heng’s side.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered to her.

She slipped her hand back into his and leaned on his shoulder. “Don’t make me break it.”

“Little Gray?”

At Trinnon’s voice, Stelle straightened. “What is it?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t warble.

“It’s okay,” Trinnon said. “We all miss Cas. You don’t have to pretend for our sakes.”

Stelle felt herself sink a little, releasing the smile she was so tired of forcing. “Am I that obvious?”

“We’re so used to Little Gray being sunny that it's clear when you’re not.”

Well, that was disappointing. “Sorry. I guess… everything that’s happened…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Trinnon kindly assured. “We understand all too well what it means to lose a friend.”

While that wasn’t all that was bothering her, Stelle didn’t feel like elaborating. “Speaking of Castorice, she gave me a message to pass on to you. And Tribbie, but you can pass that on.”

“Oh?”

“She told me to tell you that Trianne was there with her. And that she’s still as tenacious as ever.”

“She is?” Trinnon’s gaze hit the ground, and she curled in on herself, her already small presence shrinking in half.

“I saw her, too,” Stelle confirmed. “I… can confirm she’s still her bright and shining self.”

For a long few seconds, Trinnon wrung her small hands together. Then, she took a deep breath before lifting her head. “Thank you.”

Knowing she would break if she tried to say anything, Stelle knelt instead, reaching forward to hug Trinnon.

And Trinnon returned the favor, clinging tightly. “Thank you for befriending her.”

“Don’t make me cry.”

Trinnon sniffed.

Ugh, dang it. Stelle felt a stray tear slip out the corner of her eye.

They stayed like that for a moment before parting. Both of them ended up wiping their eyes at the same time. The exact mirror of their actions caused mirthless chuckles to escape both of them.

“The journey goes on, right?” Stelle said.

“It does,” Trinnon agreed.

Despite being so afraid to cry, it was like half of her fears escaped with that one little tear. She wasn’t alone. Obviously, she had Dan Heng by her side, a fact she would never cease being thankful for. But she had others, too. That meager comfort strengthened the glue holding her together.

When she looked up, she noticed the others had stopped their conversation. Though, it took her a second to realize that because Dan Heng had kindly positioned himself as a shield for Trinnon and Stelle.

Stelle's heart warmed. He knew what she needed before she even did. She placed a hand on his back, both as thanks and to alert him his guard duties were no longer necessary. “Uh, sorry,” Stelle said.

“Take all the time you need,” Aglaea assured. “You’ve been through an incredibly difficult trial.”

“The titans certainly take pleasure in their tests,” Anaxa remarked. “They won’t relinquish their coreflame to just anyone, but that’s no small wonder. I suppose it is their duty to ensure only the correct Chrysos Heir is capable of taking their place.”

Though it was brief, Phainon’s expression wavered. His attempted trial with Strife proved Anaxa's words.

“Well, I suppose that’s enough of the pleasantries,” Anaxa said. “My time has come to a close. Farewell, everyone.”

There was a round of farewells, mixed in with blessings from Cerces. Absently, Stelle wondered if he actually needed them considering the titan was already housed within his body.

However, she hardly had time to ponder on it. Anaxa had approached the well, ready to submit his coreflame, but instead of simply surrendering it, Stelle watched in horror as he ripped it from his chest. Blue flames licked his body, their light dancing around the Vortex like an eerie omen as his body dissolved in a mix of blue and gold. His last laugh, one arrogant and proud, sent chills up her spine. She doubted that echo would leave her head any time soon. It was a stark reminder that his hourglass had been running out the same as hers.

But unlike her, his time had come to an end.

The painful pinpricks of goosebumps engulfed every inch of her skin, that eerie chill overtaking her entire body. Aeons, that could have been her.

Dan Heng gave her shaking hand a squeeze, a reminder that he was there by her side. That she wasn't alone. That she wasn't dead.

With her other trembling hand, she clutched Dan Heng's jacket sleeve.

There was a wave of silent horror that swept across the room. Aglaea stood tall and proud, but Trianne was cowering at Stelle’s other side, and Phainon’s gaze was locked onto the floor. Only the splash of the coreflame entering the well broke the silence.

“Forever the performer,” Aglaea spoke.

Dan Heng waited a moment for anyone else to make a comment before saying, “We will take our leave. I fear Stelle is still tired from her journey.”

Yes, please, she thought, itching to escape this horrible place. The fact Dan Heng knew, that he had a plan of escape… Stelle swore she fell in love with this man all over again.

“Yes, please get some rest,” Aglaea assured, turning to Stelle. “You’ve had a taxing time.”

“Thank you,” Stelle said.

“Before you go,” Aglaea continued. “I wanted to thank you for what you did for Castorice. She looked so happy last night.”

Ah yes. They’d run into Aglaea during their slumber party activities. Castorice had promised to show Stelle a dance, one she'd learned from the girls in the village she'd grown up in. Castorice had remarked that it was done in a circle around a fire, and Stelle wasn't going to let that detail slip. Hence, Stelle had dragged Castorice out to collect some Living Flames of Georios, only to cross paths with Aglaea in the process. “We had a good time.”

“And it looks like she returned the favor for doing her hair.”

Stelle ran her hands over her twin ponytails, tied off with golden bows. A parting gift from Castorice before she’d sent Stelle back to the mortal realm. Stelle had gotten the ribbons a couple weeks back from the chimeras she’d worked with. They’d been a thank you for her hard work, but with Stelle only just learning of her condition, she hadn’t been in the mood to do anything but kindly thank them for the gift. She’d put the ribbons away, unsure when she’d ever use them. But last night, when she had braided Castorice’s hair, she’d been thankful she had them. The gold had looked striking against her purple hair.

Now, these golden ribbons held a new meaning. Castorice had been beaming as she returned the favor and styled Stelle’s hair. Even though her hair was in a basic style—they hadn’t the time for anything as elaborate as Stelle’s work on Castorice’s hair last night—she didn’t want to remove them. “Yeah. She said I needed to take my things with me.”

“It looks good on you,” Aglaea said. “You’re glowing.”

Her heart squeezed, and her throat tightened. Stelle took a breath to steady herself. “Castorice had a message she wanted me to pass on to you. She told me she wanted to thank you for everything.”

Aglaea’s eyes softened, and in that rare moment, she no longer looked like a golden statue that led the Chrysos heirs. She appeared so very… human. “She’s most welcome for it. It’s been the greatest pleasure knowing her.”

Stelle hoped Castorice knew that. Somehow, someway.

“As a thank you for entertaining her,” Aglaea continued, “I sent someone to clean your room for you. They offered to return Castorice’s things, however, I instructed them to leave them with you. Her dromas plush... it holds very special meaning to her."

“She told me about it,” Stelle replied. “I was thinking about giving it a new owner.”

Aglaea smiled. “I think she would have liked that. There are a few other things of hers I think she would appreciate you have. I will get them to you at the proper time.”

“Uh, about that…”

“Fear not,” Aglaea continued. “Cipher will keep to her deal of eighty percent of Castorice’s things. But, she will only get that eighty once I’ve had a chance to distribute her most precious things to a select few people.”

“So you did hear that.”

Proudly, Aglaea smirked. “I have my golden threads everywhere, particularly when it comes to that particular thief. Those same threads are keeping her at bay from Castorice’s home for now.”

Of course she did. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Aglaea was on top of things.

“But that will wait for another day. Go rest. You’ve earned it.”

Stelle felt like she could sleep for ages. Her body ached, and she was so weary. All of the tears she’d been holding back for weeks, the ones that finally made an appearance once she’d been stitched back together, had drained any strength she’d had remaining.

But as she turned, she saw Phainon standing off to the side. Right, she had one last message. “Phainon.”

“Yes?”

“Castorice told me to tell you she wishes you the best of luck on your flame chase journey.”

He smiled, but she swore his eyes grew a little glassy. “She’s so sweet, even to the end. I wish I could have bid her off.”

“I’m sure she knows. She respects you a lot.” Maybe not as much as Mydei, but you’re up there, dude.

“I’m honored. It’s been… a privilege to know her. Now, you should go rest. I’m certain traversing the nether realm takes quite a toll on one’s soul.”

It did. And she’d like to never ever do it again.

In silence, Dan Heng led Stelle back to their room. They didn’t need to fill that silence. The way his hand held hers communicated enough.

Only once they were back at their private chambers did Dan Heng speak. “You did well.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m proud of you.”

She heaved a sigh, her entire body feeling so very heavy.

Before she could collapse, his finger curled under her chin, gently tilting it upwards so she would meet his gaze. Yet, his gaze seemed to be focused a little lower. Tenderly, he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “We won’t be making any public appearances for a while. So you can take your time and let that heal.”

It started to quiver under his touch, her eyes beginning to burn a bit. How contradictory that his hand in hers was holding her together while his touch was tearing her apart. “Kiss it better?”

His eyes softened just enough to spark her hope. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer. Stelle came willingly, their chests pressing together she leaned against him. Then he lowered his head, indulging her in a soft, lingering touch of his lips.

When Dan Heng regretfully pulled away, it took Stelle a second to find the strength to open her eyes. She wanted time to stop, for this moment to last forever.

But time didn’t work that way, even with her titan’s power. There was only one way to get what she wanted.

“Dan Heng…” His name came to her easily. The rest of the words, not so much. “I… love you so much.”

He smiled. “I love you, too.”

“I…” I want this to last forever. I want to be your wife. I want everything.

His expression softened, and the way he rubbed slow circles on the small of her back stole the words from her mouth. “Do you want anything?” he asked. “It’s a little early in the evening, but I think an early night would be preferable. Is there anything I can get you for dinner?”

His offer made all the words clogged in her throat vanish without a trace. Maybe now wasn’t the time to reach for more. Maybe now was the time to cherish what she already had.

Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow, when she wasn’t haggard and exhausted from tears. Time waited for no one, but she’d just escaped the clutches of death. Surely it would wait until she had her wits about her. “I’d like that. But, I’m not all that hungry tonight.”

“Then a smaller portion?”

“I think I’d like a bath first.”

“Then, should I go get something so you can have it when you finish?”

Tempting, but she thought of something she’d rather have. “Join me?”

It wasn’t likely he’d accept her offer. He’d been keen on turning it down ever since Nikador’s trial. Of course, she knew what she’d been requesting, and never had it been wholly innocent. It had been her way of pushing the boundaries of their relationship.

And he likely knew it. That’s probably why he was the one to slow their kisses, to keep the boundaries where they were. Stelle hadn't let it bother her too much; she was happy to move at whatever pace he’d set as long as they could keep moving forward together.

Yet, as he sighed, his smile turned a hint indulgent. Like when she was digging through trash and he was exasperated but he let her because he knew it made her happy.

A hopeful spark ignited in her heart.

And then it soared when he gave her an answer. “As you wish.”

[writingsfromhome]

Golf on TV

Ask: fluffy piece based on Lennon Stella’s Golf on TV (sorry I deleted the original ask but this song is so fluff so ty!)

—————————

I wake up to the bed made, for a second I don’t know where I am. My sleep-addled brain tries to catch up to the present moment. The present morning.

I was in bed, in my new home. It was Saturday morning.

Last night had been a late one. I was the co-lead in an intense case at work and the plaintiff’s team had been smoking our ass in court. Last night we’d gotten boxes of newly admitted evidence and every single person stayed well into the AM to sort it out. The other side liked to play dirty and this is how they did it. Little did they know we’d found our smoking gun. Never underestimate Stewart, Stone, and Nowak.

But I’d gotten home and passed out on the couch. Well, I’d gotten home to Harry passed out on the couch with the TV on. He must have tried staying up for me even though I had told him to go home. But he stayed.

I remember the tension leaving my body just seeing him snuggled on the couch, his face a kaleidoscope of colours reflecting off from the TV. I’d met Harry less than a year ago, a meet cute moment where both of us had gone for the same taxi. He’d waved me in like a gentleman and I’d invited him to share it. Turns out we were only going a few blocks from each other.

He was from London, in San Francisco for work. The taxi ride had been 27 minutes in total but in that time it felt like we’d known each other for 27 years.

As soon as I saw him on the couch, I’d dropped my jacket there, and gotten in beside him. He’d barely stirred, and I passed out pretty quickly thereafter.

I sit up and the sham that was draped over me falls over the side of the bed. I check my watch, still on my wrist. It was past 7. A solid 4.5 hours—that was a restful night for me ever since I took this case on.

Harry must have carried me to bed, I realize. And I’d been dead to the world while he did.

I never expected to see him again after that taxi ride. Until a few weeks later, he was waiting for me in the courthouse lobby. He’d looked me up, saw I had a case that morning, and waited. It was his last week in San Francisco and he wanted to take me on a date. He hadn’t stopped thinking about me, he’d said. I hadn’t either.

I’d dated plenty before him, had several boyfriends, even a situationship. Harry was the first guy I ever felt relaxed around. From that first date he made sure I felt cared for, that I was happy—he was unafraid to put me first. Even when he had to go back to London and we were long distance for three and a half months, we were always talking.

I’d felt unwanted before. Those were the days I chased after boys that only liked me for doing the chasing. Never did they actually want me. Because when they got me, they’d leave and keep me chasing them forever. Harry had never once been shy about the fact that he wanted me. That he chose me over everything.

We were always running towards each other. Never after each other.

I blink away the sleepiness and notice Harry had put me in a tshirt. It was the little things.

That’s when I hear the voices coming from downstairs. Harry…and my mom.

It was time to get up.

“Good morning princess,” my mom spots me first. I looked bad this morning—even though Harry had attempted to take my makeup off whenever he’d taken me to bed, and replaced my slacks for shorts, I still had craters for eye bags and a tangled bedhead, and dehydrated and inflamed skin from sleeping with makeup. But mom never stopped calling me princess.

“Harry and I were just making pancakes,” she points to the griddle behind her. God, mom loved Harry. It was weird because she’d only ever met 2 of my boyfriends since I started dating as a teen. She hated both of them and was never shy about it. All the others she’d heard about over the phone or a late night snack at her house back when she lived close to where I worked. She hated them all equally. “We’re worried you’re not eating enough.”

I catch eyes with Harry, it was a constant argument with us. But it was hard to eat with a regular appetite when I was so close to the end of big cases. He knew that. He used my mom as a shield to push his own agenda, they worked as a team like that.

But it never made me mad. It was more caring than any ex had ever been.

“Pancakes are your favourite,” Harry says while towel-drying his hands. He’d been ‘washing up’, as he would say with his accent.

“They are,” I say as he walks around the island to me and kisses my cheek. He was always weirdly chaste around my mom, nothing like his behaviour late nights in bed.

Mom grins at me from behind him. She was obsessed.

So was I though.

“Let’s eat!” Mom says. “C’mon, we gotta eat before they get cold. Y/N grab the fruit behind you.”

“Sure mom,” I grab the bowl she prepared. Harry watches mom leave the kitchen with the pancakes and syrup. As soon as she’s out of sight he tugs me right against him.

“Y’know you don’t have to wait for her to leave to be my boyfriend?”

“Is that what I am?” He nuzzles my neck. “I thought I was just your boy-toy.”

“Nah,” I let him kiss me even though we’re both smiling. “My boy-toy’s like, 5 years younger than you are.”

“Yeah well, he’s not the one trying to take your makeup off at 5am while you talk about invoices and flash drives.”

“Oops,” I must have been talking about our smoking gun in my sleep. I couldn’t even rest unconscious. “Thank you for that. You could have left me on the couch.”

“Maybe if I was your boy-toy. But I’m your strong English boyfriend, I take you to bed.”

“And you do it so well,” I pat his arm condescendingly, stealing one more kiss before skirting away. I leave him chuckling in the kitchen and gathering the coffee for breakfast.

Before Harry, I didn’t realize love could be so selfless. That it didn’t have to hurt all the time. That one person could be enough.

“Y/N?” Mom asks. “What do you think?”

“Huh?” I’d gotten lost in thought and I see Harry smirk. I guess I was just staring at him.

“For your dad’s birthday coming up?!” She sighs. “I’ve been talking about his dinner—Harry said he has to go back to London the week before. I thought we could do a birthday dinner early so Harry can be there. You know your dad would like that.”

He would. My dad was just as keen on Harry, telling me that he was good for me—the way a man should be. Those were his exact words.

I remember I’d been confused at first when Harry and I started long-distance dating. He was more stable and consistent than relationships I’d had where we lived inches apart. Being long-distance, I’d only missed him physically when we were apart, he was still there for me in every other way.

When he officially transferred to his San Francisco office 5 months ago, he had surprised me. I remember opening my door to him standing there with flowers and macarons—my favourite dessert. I’d nearly smashed them all when I screamed and threw myself onto him.

After that moment I knew I was done with romanticizing dysfunction and compromising. His love was healthy and pure, and it was for me.

I tried my best to give that to him in return. Lately I’d been a bad girlfriend working long hours and barely seeing him. But I’d make it up to him. He didn’t know this but I’d booked the same flight to London with him, that’s why mom was trying to move dad’s birthday dinner up. So I’d be there too.

“Sounds great,” I say. “That way we can all make it.”

“Perfect I’ll make us a reservation.” Mom picks up her phone and begins typing on it with one finger, one key at a time. She tsks, “Oh why is it doing this now.”

“Here Mrs. Y/l/n,” Harry holds his hand out. “What are you trying to do.”

“This new update has been driving me crazy,” she hand her phone to Harry. He glances at me and we bite back a smile. Mom was notorious for being Bad at Technology. But Harry was always patient and tried teaching her.

“The search bar’s on the bottom now,” Harry shows her. “That’s where you type it in.”

“It was fine at the top why do they always have to move it around, gah I’ll just do this on a computer.”

“Yeah no rush mom,” I say.

“Well I’ll clear the table now. I need to get going soon I have a squash game at half eight.”

“Yeah I need be in by then.” Court opened at 9:30 today and I had to be there a half hour early to submit what we had.

“You two stay here,” mom begins piling plates. She’s surprisingly strong when she snatches the mug Harry’s trying to take away himself. “Let me clean up. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Thanks for the breakfast mom!” I shout as she heads away. Harry echoes a thank you.

“Don’t thank me,” I hear her mumble as she walks away.

Me and Harry are left grinning at each other. He holds his hand out on the table and I clasp his.

“Your mum’s sweet.”

“My mum,” I tease him. I keep his hand held as I go around the table to his seat. He tugs me down onto his lap. “Did you actually call your mom mummy as a kid?”

“Did you call your mum mommy?” Harry asks in a decent American accent.

“Maybe,” I smile.

“Maybe.” He replies.

“I’ll just ask your mum when I meet her someday.”

“She really does want to meet you.” He says seriously. “She thinks I’m deliberately keeping you away.”

“Maybe you are, so she can’t answer all the burning questions I have about you.”

“I can just imagine you and her teaming up against me. My sister will join in too.”

I’d met his sister a few months back when she visited. We hit it on immediately just like Harry and I had. It was a bit of a relief.

“I can’t wait to swap stories over breakfast with your mom.”

“Oh you’d love her breakfast,” Harry smiles fondly. I feel a twinge then, sometimes I wondered if he ever got homesick. Especially when he talked about memories from home. “She does the best English breakfast. You’d have to try black pudding though.”

I crinkle my nose, “Isn’t that the one with the blood?”

“Mmmm it sure is,” he grips my hips and a shiver shoots up my spine.

“Gross! Why would anyone eat that? Or your-what’s that other pudding thing? The one you tried making last winter that’s all puffy-“

“Yorkshire.” He smiles.

“You literally poured hot oil on your mixture. It’s clogging my pores just thinking about it.”

“That’s it. You’re coming to London before the year is over and you’re going to be begging for more when you have a proper roast. What I made at home was a pathetic attempt.”

“Mmm I don’t get it.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “I just don’t get English food. It’s like people who wear crocs, or golf on TV, I don’t get it.”

“You just descibed,” Harry tucks my hair behind my ear, “the perfect date. We’re sorted for the weekend.”

I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But I love you.” I kiss him. He pulls me back to him when I part.

“I love you.”

“I really do need a shower before I head in though,” I remind him.

“Maybe I’ll join you,” he says low enough so my mom can’t hear.

“If you’re brave enough with mom still here.” I tease.

“Okay hon,” she pops out of nowhere. “I’m heading out. Good luck with court today.”

“Thanks mom.” I get up and give her a big squeeze. “I appreciate you dropping by.”

“Of course. And I’ll drop dinner by tonight I saw the state of your fridge, you should clean that thing out y/n.”

“Yess mom,” I roll my eyes. Harry snickers behind me. Mom should see his fridge, it was half beer cans and takeout containers.

While mom tells Harry about the dinner she would drop by for us I get a headstart on my shower. It was already quarter to 8 and I couldn’t waste any more time.

Harry joins me shortly after, he lowers my hands when he gets in and washes my hair slowly with care. I nearly pass out in the shower with how good his fingers feel on my scalp.

“Thank you,” I turn to him after I wash it out.

“Don’t mention it love,” he kisses my temple.

“Harry,” I suddenly feel choked up. I think his scalp massage had unblocked some chakra stuff because I’m suddenly overwhelmed with feeling.

“What?” He tilts my face up.

“I’m just…I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

“Nonsense.” He swipes my tear away even though the stream of water makes it all the same.

“No I…I never thought I’d meet someone like you. I used to think love was hurting. It doesn’t make sense anymore-“

“Like golf on TV.”

“Yeah,” I laugh and it breaks up the knot in my throat. “Yeah like golf on TV. Now being in love feels like soccer-“

“Football.”

“Soccer,” I correct him. He grins. “It makes sense to me.”

“If you didn’t have work in 30 minutes,” Harry pulls me into him and crushes me against him. It feels good, like being held together. “You’d be face down in bed in the next 10 seconds.”

“Where’s this Harry when my mom’s around.” I tease.

“This Harry’s just for you.” He says just as he turns the shower off. I draw away as he grabs us some towels and I watch him with an unbreakable joy; if it was physical it could illuminate this tiled shower and bounce around the whole room.

He was the reason I got through all these gruelling hours for court. Because I knew I had someone waiting for me, that I could steal an hour away with, and it would leave me refuelled enough for another 24 hour work-day.

“Why are you smiling at me like that,” Harry asks as he hands me the towel. I shake my head and wrap it around me. He watches as I blow dry my hair, kissing my shoulder when I’m done.

“I’ll leave when you leave. Should I drop you off to the office?”

“Please?” I ask. “That’d give me an extra 5 minutes.”

His face lights up.

“No,” I say as he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. “No Harry I have to be early!”

“I only need 2,” he says as he launches me onto the bed. “Maybe 3.”

I pretend to be annoyed but I inch up in bed as he makes his way over and I can’t think of a better way to spend the extra 5 minutes. Or 10. Oops.

If the old me ever met the new me, she’d probably try to stop me. She didn’t know what love could look like. That it could be a gentle smile, a drive in to work, making sure you’re eating, helping your mom out with her phone, or washing your hair for you in the shower.

I’d tell her—the old me, that it was as simple as this: I wanted him, only him. And he wanted me too.

[ohbo-ohno]

Bo, I had a dark au idea that I really love but I’m too shy to post it on my main so I’m sending it to you because I think you might like it.

Soap and Ghost who are ready for the next stage in their lives now that they’re retired from the military. Setting up a nursery in the new house they bought and filling it with all sorts of cute toys and plush blankets to welcome a sweet little baby into their lives.

But there are so many problems that arise from this because of the fact that Ghost is, technically, dead. They can’t really adopt and it’s hard to find a surrogate who is willing to carry for them discreetly, even when they’re offering more then the usual prices. And even when they do, they have an even harder time finding one that they actually like. They can’t have just anyone carry their baby!

So they’re disheartened after months of searching and Soap is starting to think that it may never happen when Ghost comes home from the store one day and says that he thinks he found the perfect girl to carry their baby. Reader. Soap is immediately excited, he can’t wait to meet this mystery person. The overworked and run down cashier that rang Ghost out earlier that day. Younger then both of them and, as they were soon to find out through a little research (*coughstalkingcough*), struggling horribly. A shitty apartment in the bad side of town, little to no furniture, and working double shifts at at least 2 jobs just to make ends meet. It hurts Soap to see the future carrier of their child (because he decided the second that Ghost said he wanted you that you would be their surrogate) in such bad condition. He wants to take you home with them the minute he sees your horrible living conditions and Ghost has to physically hold him back by the scruff of his neck to keep him from ruining his plan.

His plan being to sabotage your whole life. Call and write in several complaints to your jobs from numerous phone numbers and email addresses, making up scandalous rumors to get you fired and pretending to be your previous bosses when you try to find new ones, ensuring that you can no longer even try to sustain yourself. And all of it will peak when you’re three months behind on your rent and your landlord finally evicts you. With nowhere to go, you’re forced to live in homeless shelters, crying your eyes out when Ghost finally lets Soap approach you.

And he’s so nice to you, pretending to be a volunteer at the shelter, offering you a warm meal with him tonight, a better bed to sleep in, a hot shower. It sounds like heaven to you, you can’t help but agree. Even smile when Soap says his husband will probably be there to meet you in the morning.

And met him you did, several hours later, waking up to his cock filling you, Soap’s hands on your belly, cooing to you that it would all be fine. They’ll take care of you, keep you safe and warm and happy, they just need a little something in return. This is the least you could for for them, isn’t it? They’ll get you anything you could ever need or want.

Anddddddd then they end up never letting you go, even after a baby is born ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️. Sorry I got a bit carried away, but I’m going feral over this idea - 🕸

sorry for the semi late response spiderweb!!! this is such a cool idea, tysm for sending it to me! i really don't have anything much to add, but i want everyone else to get to see it too lol

[hanasnx]

tw vent below. death of a friend

today would’ve been my best friend’s twenty fourth birthday. i remember when i heard she was in the hospital. and how my busy schedule prevented me from getting out there to visit. i thought it was going to be a routine thing, and she’d be out in a day. she stayed off her phone for the most part, but we still played games like eight ball. and she thanked me for keeping her company.

i remember the day i got the call while i was on the way to take my dog to the vet. my dog was severely sick, my job was up my ass, and when i told them i’d be late, i had no idea the news i was going to receive an hour later.

jay had passed away. and i never thought it would happen. i was maybe nineteen years old, having had this friend for my high school years and on, i had expected to grow old together. for a chunk of my life jay was more than an important person and dear friend to me, she was part of my family. birthdays, christmases, every hang out and every party, we were together. jay introduced me to my friend group that became part of that family and then my eventual roommates.

she opened up so many doors for me, but she also taught me a whole lot about being a person. about having an identity. about being real. i still see galaxy patterned items and think of jay first, i see her in crystals and wood beads and i still smell her shampoo. i eat what she would’ve eaten on her birthday, what we would’ve shared. i get boba and i try to get pho and i think it’s for her too.

i remember the emptiness in my grandfather’s eyes when i told him she died from covid-19 as he’d gone on and on about how its not a real thing and no one needs to wear a mask. my friend, my age, had died from it. and he didn’t even say sorry.

i remember my brother told me that he didn’t even recall my loss, even though he was one of the first people i confided in about it.

i remember my mom came to the funeral with me when i wasn’t strong enough to go alone. my mom who had seen my journey with jay up until the end. my mom who cried hearing jay’s mom sob into the shoulder of her sister. my mom who held my hand until it was my turn to speak.

i remember my boyfriend supported me through it all even though we had only been dating four months. he didn’t run scared when i went through one of my worst experiences, he held me through it and showed me i could trust him through genuine despair. through hopeless depression. through bone aching cries.

i cant remember the last time i got to hang out with jay, but i remember the last time i saw her. and how it was in passing, and how we yelled at each other from far away about how we were gonna make plans, that i missed her. and then the last time we spoke was over text. i didn’t even get to see her in the hospital.

i thought working today or acting like everything was cool or normal would help. i thought staying busy would mean i could avoid her birthday while spending appropriate time to celebrate it later, but grief is not on a schedule, and i regretted taking a shift. i was spacey, and ill-equipped to handle fast pacing. i was prone to irritation and impatience. and as soon as i got to the safety of my home i broke. my friend is dead. i’ve seen her urn. the body i hugged isn’t here anymore even though i can still feel the shape of her in my arms.

she never got to live on her own like she wanted to, she never got a place to be herself like she wanted to, she never got to be free like she wanted to. maybe now, after shes passed, shes gotten the peace that she deserved.

my favorite thing about her was how much we’d laugh. i experienced pure joy when i was with jay, and she was my first real friend. i don’t think there will ever be a time in my life when she isn’t with me. happy birthday jay.

[vibratingskull]

Mermaid!Thrawn x f!reader part 6

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Well, let’s just say your mother didn’t appreciate you coming back drenched to the bones in her home. For that you earned 3 months without the right of going out except for college and work, with a tracking app on your phone as a bonus. Seriously?

But today is the day your punishment is lifted, so you pedal like a maniac in the street of your small town to the library, texting Eli on the way. You roll along the cliff, near the chasm to admire the ocean as you ride your bike, you inhale the scent of ocean spray as you hurtle down the hill. Today will be a good day!

“So what do you search for exactly?” Eli asks, putting the microfilm in his reader, “I’m searching for articles on the death of the priests.” you explain, he stops mid-movement to look you dead in the eyes “You mean about this story my great uncle told you about?”, you nod and he sighs “Why?”, “I’m taking interest in true crimes lately, I just want to see if it could make a good episode to tell.” you lie. He sighs again but helps you nonetheless.

You spent around 3 hours searching through the archived articles of the gazette but found nothing potent, you press your lips into a thin line, disappointed, “The Gazette is more right-leaning, surely they would have talked about an incident at church…” he whispers, “Maybe the church opposed to the idea?”, “And lose an opportunity to play martyrs? Surely not!” Eli counters “We must have missed something.” You go back to your microfilms with more focus and it pays off! One hour later you got something

“Look at that! It says a gang of rioters put the town upside down on the night of the 6th, they tried to penetrate into habitants homes several times and even abducted an infant following “the incident at church” of the day prior,” “You think this is it?” he wonders, “The dates could match!”, “What happened next?”, “The parents fought off the abductors and saved their child, but it suffered grave cuts on the chest and back. They had to go to the hospital. The gang disappeared in an unknown location towards the sea.”,“Huh… Funny.” Eli comments. He doesn’t understand, it only makes sense to you for now. You change microfilms on your machine “Help me find the one published at this date, it should confirm my suspicions.” but impossible to find it. “You’re sure we got all the microfilms?” Eli asks suspiciously, “Yeah… I helped the librarian, there wasn’t any other box of microfilms.” then why one edition was missing? “You think the archives are incomplete?”, “That would surprise me a lot! You know how old towns love their archives.” he laughs. You bite your lips pensively, why does it have to be especially this one? Especially the one that could confirm the date and the incident. Crap! Is it a coincidence?

You rummage through all the microfilms, to no avail. You have to come to your sense : this edition is definitely lost. “Don’t be like that” Eli tries to cheer you up “I know! The University got a club of journalism, no? We could try their archives!” You nod feebly as you walk out the library, disappointed. Eli circles your shoulders with his arm “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was so close to your heart. It is a new hobby of yours?”, “Well you know how my mother hate when I paint. She threw all my art furniture in the bins after an argument one month ago…”, “Even the merman you were painting?” your heart pinch at that memory “Yeah, even this one… She knew I put a lot of my heart in this one…” Sometimes you can’t wait until you gather enough money to run away to the city and away from your family…

“Say… You know what could clear your spirit?” He proposes “Coming to church with me!” Eli smiles broadly. You gauge him up and down not amused “You know I would burn as soon as I step foot into the buildings? I’m an impious harlot, remember?” He winces and joins his hands together “Please… Don’t let me go alone… The new priest is terrifying!” he begs you with his eyes. You look at him with a light grin. Fearless Eli who would face up an ouragan on his fish boat is trembling before a man? You can’t miss that! “Alright, but only because it’s you.” you squeeze him back.

You sit down on the bench of the church, it feels more fresh inside! You tend to forget Eli’s family is pretty religious. Except his grand uncle. You always stayed together outside of church while Eli’s inside when you were young. He told you fairy tales and legends, your parents trusted him to take care of you during this one hour outside of Eli’s parent supervision.

When you rise your head to the altar  you understand what Eli’s meaned by terrifying. Perched up, judging everyone and their sins is Priest Tarkin, as cold as ever. You lower your gaze as your eyes meet, you realize everyone do the same. Nobody dares looking him in the eyes. You wanna whisper something to Eli but he’s already praying next to you, eyes closed shut, hand clasped before him, so you remain silent, looking at your feet. You discretely let your gaze navigate the room as Tarkin starts the mass to pass time.

And you froze.

Here… On the other side of the room, a few rows before yours… The gang that hunts Thrawn!

Eli yawns deeply, clearly not pleased to be on a bark at this hour of the night. “Tell me again why I accepted to follow you?”, “Because it will be worth it” you simply respond by paddling further away. He begrudgingly follows.

When you’re far enough you stop and take out your ukulele and start singing under Eli’s wide, confused eyes. He remains silent for 20 minutes and then explodes. “You have talent, I’ll give you that! But if you wanted to give me a show, my room would have been as good! and less cold.” He almost sneezes. But you don’t listen to him, you lean overboard and tap water to create waves.

You hope he will come

Surely he will come…

You then feel a claw grazing your palm and two red orbs under water. “Hi, Thrawn! Would you please hop on the bark? I got someone I would like you to meet.”, “Who are you talking to?” Eli grumbles, hugging himself in the cold “Fishes?”. 

You shout him a smile and take Thrawn's hand to help him on the bark. He jumps in easily and sits in like a king, slouching with his tail resting in water, floating lazily. You turn towards Eli with hope. He looks at Thrawn with round eyes and a mouth agape. Thrawn looks back to him with a thin smirk. Eli remains silent before finally speaking “What the fuck is that?”, “Not what: who! Eli I present you Thrawn. Thrawn, Eli.” Thrawn immediately leans towards him with his hand extended to him like you teached him. Eli jolt away. “Santa Maria, It moves!”, “Yes he moves, he’s a living being” you tempers, a bit annoyed “Isn’t he marvelous?” Eli gulps, eyes fixed on the claws of Thrawn’s hand “Seriously, who the fuck is this?”. “He’s my friend!” you exclaim joyfully, Eli cross himself “You’re friend with a monster?” he asks, utterly terrified. “He’s not a monster” you protest “he’s a person!”, “I’m sorry, I don’t know any person with claws, a tail and shark teeth!” he counters. Touché! You wince “He’s a sensible person with sentiments, you’ll see when you’ll know him better. Come closer! He won’t bite!” Eli remains still “Come on, shake his hand!” you encourage. Eli tentatively extends his hand, shake it with Thrawn and takes it back as quickly. “So? What do you think?” you shout, full of excitement. “I… I don’t know…”, “What? Aren’t you excited?! Isn’t it incredible? I mean, he’s a merman! A goddamn merman!”, “Incredible, that’s for sure…” He gulps “Listen… I think I will head home.” He takes his paddles, “You… You don’t stay?” you ask, your hopes getting crushed. “No… No, I’ve got a long day tomorrow, I … I’ll call you later, okay?” and he paddles away.

You look at him disappearing in the horizon, all of your excitement melting like ice under the sun. You turn to Thrawn who observed you both behind his folded hands with an embarrassed smile “I’m sorry it happened like that. I swear he’s a great guy!” You defend Eli, Thrawn tilts his head “He’s just… He’ll need a bit of time I think.” you murmur “I shouldn’t have thrown it to his face like that…” you sigh, saddened.

Thrawn remains silent, looking at you intently. You shake yourself up and offer him a smile “Let’s not talk about that!” you take out your little white board, some markers and your sign language book “I’ve find something for you to understand me better!” you laugh.

“It is quite useless. I understand you well.”

@blueninjablade3 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @pencil-urchin @twilekchiss @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay

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[lashysdomain]

Sing me a Song of Sentiment: Shattered

Book of Songs Solitude | Sympathy | Success | Scrutiny | Sentiment: Saccharine • Shattered | Severing

Tw for manipulation, emotional abuse, and gaslighting

Artinos' senses are muddied and dull when thought returns to him, a faint gasp of air escaping as blurry eyes wander the interior of his home. His home being dead silent would make him uneasy if it weren't for the dull ringing echoing around skull.

Throbbing like that of a limb that's been asleep for hours pricks its way through his nerve endings inch by inch sending the violet stumbling against the nearest surface of the kitchen island. The pain of movement rips through any thought that makes its way into his ringing skull as he sinks to the floor, waves of that dull numbness spreading across limb and organ.

And then— In an instant— it’s all gone, replaced with the feeling of Isatol's hands cupping his face. His muscles give from the relief, left only upright by the lime bloods hold on his head.

"Oh Arti.... What am I to do with you, cuttlefish...."

His words cut through the fog in Arti's mind, eyes turning upward to meet his mates. Giving a half mumbled apology he sits up proper, running a hand down his arm to make sure that prickling feeling is truly gone.

"Guess I was more tired than I thought..."

"This is why I told you to come back sooner... You're going to overexert yourself..."

"Oh, nah, I've done that before, I know my warning signs for it-"

"Is fainting not one? You looked like a man possessed when I came in."

"Naaah, just... Start drying out real bad. I feel f-"

A wave of dizziness strikes the seadweller mid sentence pitching him forward into Isatol's chest, that same fuzziness he'd only just gotten rid of returning.

"Or perhaps you're feeling so bad you aren't even noticing it.... Lets get you into bed to lay down, Artinos."

With a nod Isa helps Arti stand, keeping him close as they move deeper into his home and toward his room.

"I... But I.. I really was feeling fine...."

"Artinos.... You need to lay down."

"I... Need to lay down."

------

For hours now the seadweller laid at the bottom of the pool in his room, the faint buzzing of his phone from his nightstand never reaching below the waters surface.

He felt so odd... So off... Like his mind was running on autopilot and he was sat in the passenger seat waiting for his destination to arrive. Finally having enough energy to open his eyes, the ceiling Arti had last seen dark blinked with the familiar light of a notification. Through more strain than it would normally take he swims to the surface, hauling his heady body onto the surrounding tile of the pool to grab his phone from the nearby table to answer the incoming call.

"He-"

"Where the hell are you?" his moirail hisses into his ear, the phones sound having been up so high from his drive earlier that he cringes back from the speaker for a moment.

"I'm… At home…? Oh- Shit-- I'm so sorry I didn't text you. I'm fine; I laid down for a nap. I. Think."

"For six hours? You think?"

"S. SIX!?" In a confused panic Arti immediately pulls the phone away from his face, setting his rail on speaker to check the time. Six hours. Six whole hours he's laid at the bottom of his pool simply breathing and unable to think straight.

"I didn't think I'd laid there for that long.... I got home with snacks for Isa and when I got inside I was feeling woozy so I laid down.... I'm so sorry I worried you Justya.... I was going to head to the garage tonight too but now it's... So late..."

"It's fine. I'm just glad you're alright." There's a pause between the pair as Arti slowly takes in Justya's tone- She's worried still, he can at least tell that much from just how irritated she sounds. "You are alright, yeah?"

"Ah-Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine now... I've still got like. A brain fogginess to me, but I'm alright!" He knows his tone betrays just how uneasy and desperate he is for this to be true. For this to be nothing to worry about, just his body being. Weird.

"Right. Well. Do you need me to come by? You don't sound like you should be alone."

Silently he thinks for a moment, Arti knowing with her tone what Justya is saying is more a declaration of her arrival than asking. It would be nice to have her over so he has someone so impor—

His train of thought is cut short when Isatol's hand sets down on his shoulder, the seadweller jumping as the deep rumbling growl of his voice in Arti's ear sends a shiver up his spine.

"I'm here, he's not alone."

"I uh... Maybe you should still come over. I'll coo-"

"Artinos."

The violets ears begin to ring from the boom of Isatol's voice in his ear, that fog slowly taking back over his mind as any line of thought other than being alone with his mate leaves him.

"Yeah, it might be... Best it's just the two of us tonight, huh...?"

The air feels heavy as Artinos becomes extremely aware of his own breathing, his lungs almost struggling to gain air as Justya's last remark cuts through.

"Yeah. Sure."

Beep

[glennriley49]

The Descent

Inspired by the video game Platform 8

Sarah Winters clutched her phone tighter as she hurried down the rain-slicked street, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the wet pavement. The amber glow of streetlights reflected in puddles, creating an eerie, shimmering landscape. She glanced at her watch – 9:47 PM. Much later than she'd planned to leave the office.

Ducking under the awning of a closed storefront, Sarah dialed her husband's number. The phone rang several times before his groggy voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Tom, it's me. I'm so sorry, but I'm running late. Mr. Carlson dumped a huge stack of files on my desk right as I was packing up to leave. I couldn't say no – you know how he is."

There was a pause, then a sigh. "Sarah, it's almost ten. We were supposed to have dinner together tonight, remember?"

Guilt twisted in Sarah's stomach. "I know, I know. I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'm heading to the subway now. I should be home in about 40 minutes."

"Alright," Tom said, his voice softening slightly. "Just... be careful, okay? It's late, and you know how weird the subway can get at night."

Sarah smiled despite herself. Tom always worried about her. "I will. Love you."

"Love you too. See you soon."

As she hung up, Sarah noticed the street had become unsettlingly quiet. The constant hum of traffic that usually filled the air had faded to nothing. Even the patter of rain seemed muted. A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the damp night air.

Shaking off the feeling, Sarah hurried toward the entrance to the subway station. As she descended the stairs, the familiar musty smell of the underground enveloped her. But something felt... off. The usual cacophony of squealing trains, echoing footsteps, and indistinct chatter was absent. Instead, an oppressive silence pressed in around her.

Sarah's footsteps echoed loudly in the empty station as she made her way to the ticket barriers. She swiped her pass and pushed through, the mechanical click seeming unnaturally loud in the stillness. The fluorescent lights flickered erratically, casting strange shadows that danced along the tiled walls.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice bouncing off the curved ceiling. No response came.

Sarah's heart began to race. Where was everyone? Even at this hour, there should be at least a few other commuters, a station attendant, someone. But the platform stretched out before her, utterly deserted.

She walked to the edge of the platform and peered down the dark tunnel, straining her ears for any sign of an approaching train. Nothing. The digital display board was blank, offering no information about arrivals or departures.

A soft squeaking sound made Sarah jump. She spun around, but it was just a rat scurrying along the edge of the platform. She let out a nervous laugh, trying to calm her frayed nerves. "Get it together, Sarah," she muttered to herself. "It's just the subway. You've done this a thousand times."

But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong. The air felt thick, almost syrupy, as if reality itself was warping around her. Sarah blinked hard and rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was more tired than she realized.

When she opened her eyes again, she gasped. For a split second, the entire station seemed to ripple, like a stone dropped in a still pond. The walls bulged and contracted, tiles shifting in impossible patterns. Sarah stumbled backward, nearly falling onto the tracks.

"What the hell?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

As quickly as it had appeared, the distortion vanished. The station looked normal again – or as normal as an eerily empty subway station could look. Sarah's breathing came in short, sharp bursts. She fumbled for her phone, intending to call Tom, to call anyone. But when she looked at the screen, it was blank. Dead. She knew she had at least 50% battery left when she'd called Tom just minutes ago.

A low rumble began to build, vibrating through the soles of her feet. Sarah's head snapped up, hope and fear warring within her as she saw headlights approaching from the tunnel. The train glided into the station with an unsettling silence, no screeching of brakes or hiss of hydraulics.

The doors slid open with a soft whoosh. Sarah hesitated, every instinct screaming at her to turn and run, to get out of this place that felt so fundamentally wrong. But where would she go? The city streets were deserted, and she was miles from home. At least on the train, she'd be moving in the right direction.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah stepped into the carriage. The interior lights flickered, casting alternating patterns of shadow and sickly yellow illumination. As she moved further inside, she realized with a start that she wasn't alone.

A man sat at the far end of the carriage, his face hidden by the brim of a dark hat. He didn't look up as Sarah entered, didn't move at all. For a moment, she wondered if he was even real or just some kind of mannequin left behind as a bizarre prank.

The doors closed behind her with a finality that made Sarah's stomach lurch. She gripped a handrail tightly as the train began to move, accelerating far more quickly than usual. The station disappeared into darkness, replaced by the featureless black of the tunnel rushing past.

Sarah kept her eyes fixed on the man, waiting for him to move, to acknowledge her presence in any way. But he remained perfectly still, like a statue. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sir? Are you alright?"

No response.

Sarah's knuckles were white on the handrail as the train hurtled through the darkness. She tried to focus on her breathing, on staying calm, but panic clawed at the edges of her mind. This wasn't right. None of this was right.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. Sarah looked down and let out a strangled cry. Her hand, still gripping the rail, seemed to be... melting. Her fingers elongated, twisting and merging with the metal of the handrail. She tried to pull away, but her hand was fused to the rail, her flesh seamlessly blending into the cold steel.

"No, no, no," Sarah whimpered, tugging frantically at her arm. "This isn't real. This can't be real."

A low chuckle came from the other end of the carriage. Sarah's head snapped up to see the man slowly rising to his feet. He lifted his head, and Sarah felt the bottom drop out of her world.

Where his face should have been, there was only a swirling vortex of darkness, like a miniature black hole. It pulsed and writhed, tendrils of inky blackness reaching out toward her.

"What are you?" Sarah screamed, still struggling to free herself from the handrail.

The figure took a step toward her, its movements jerky and unnatural, like a marionette controlled by an unskilled puppeteer. When it spoke, the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, reverberating inside Sarah's skull.

"The question, my dear," it said, the words slithering into her mind, "is not what am I, but what are you?"

Sarah's vision swam, the interior of the train car warping and twisting around her. Her legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor, her arm stretched awkwardly above her, still fused to the handrail.

"This isn't happening," she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm dreaming. I fell asleep at my desk. That's all this is."

"Oh, but it is happening," the voice whispered, now impossibly close. Sarah could feel cold breath on her cheek. "And you are most certainly not dreaming."

She forced her eyes open, coming face to face with the swirling vortex. This close, she could see flashes of imagery in its depths – fragments of memories, nightmares given form, impossible geometries that hurt to look at.

"What do you want from me?" Sarah asked, her voice barely audible.

The figure cocked its head to the side at an angle that should have been anatomically impossible. "Want? My dear, I don't want anything from you. I simply am. And you... well, you're finally starting to see."

"See what?" Sarah's voice cracked, tears streaming down her face.

"The truth," it replied. "The cracks in your reality. The lies you've been living."

As if triggered by its words, the world around Sarah began to fracture. The walls of the train car peeled away like old wallpaper, revealing a roiling chaos beyond. Memories flashed before her eyes – her wedding day, her first day at work, childhood birthdays – but they were wrong, distorted. In each one, she could see that swirling vortex lurking at the edges, watching.

"No," Sarah moaned, shaking her head violently. "Those are my memories. My life!"

"Are they?" the figure asked, amusement coloring its tone. "Are you so sure?"

Sarah's certainty wavered. She tried to recall Tom's face, the sound of his laugh, but the details slipped away like smoke. Had she ever really known him? Had any of it been real?

The train shuddered and groaned, metal twisting as reality continued to unravel around them. Sarah felt a tugging sensation and looked down to see her body beginning to lose cohesion, edges blurring and shifting.

"What's happening to me?" she cried out, desperation clawing at her throat.

The figure leaned in close, its featureless face inches from her own. "You're waking up, Sarah. The question is: are you ready to see where this train really goes?"

As the world dissolved around her, Sarah closed her eyes and screamed.

****

Sarah's scream echoed through the disintegrating train car, reverberating off surfaces that no longer seemed solid. Her mind reeled, desperately grasping for something familiar, something real. With a herculean effort, she wrenched her hand free from the handrail, leaving behind strips of flesh that melded seamlessly with the metal.

Stumbling to her feet, Sarah lurched toward the end of the carriage. She had to get away, had to find some semblance of normality. The figure with the void for a face made no move to stop her, its eerie chuckle following her as she fumbled with the door between cars.

"Run all you like, Sarah," its voice whispered in her mind. "There's nowhere to go but deeper."

She ignored it, focusing all her energy on the door handle. It felt slippery under her fingers, constantly shifting shape. After what felt like an eternity, she managed to slide it open.

The gap between carriages yawned before her, a chasm of swirling darkness punctuated by flashes of impossible colors. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and leaped across, feeling the void tug at her, trying to pull her in. For a moment, she was suspended in nothingness, her very existence in question.

Then her feet hit solid ground. Sarah's eyes flew open as she stumbled into the next carriage. Relief flooded through her for a split second before freezing in her veins.

The man was there.

He sat in the exact same position as before, head bowed, face hidden by the brim of his hat. But this time, his arm was extended, holding a smartphone pointed directly at Sarah.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's not possible. You were... you were just..."

The man slowly lifted his head. Where the swirling vortex had been, there was now a face – but it was wrong. Features shifted and rearranged themselves constantly, as if unable to decide on a final form. Only the eyes remained fixed, boring into Sarah with an intensity that made her feel naked, exposed.

"What's the matter, Sarah?" the man asked, his voice somehow both familiar and alien. "Don't you want to be a star?"

Sarah's gaze fixed on the phone. On its screen, she could see herself, but the image was... wrong. The Sarah on the screen moved when she did, but there was a lag, a disconnect. And her face – it was melting, features running like wax, revealing something underneath that Sarah's mind refused to comprehend.

"Stop it," she pleaded, holding up her hands to shield herself from the camera. But her fingers were elongating again, twisting into impossible shapes. "Please, just stop!"

The man stood, phone still trained on Sarah. "But we've only just started," he said, a grin splitting his ever-changing face. "Don't you want to see who you really are?"

Sarah backed away, her distorted hands scrabbling at the walls of the carriage. But the surfaces felt soft, yielding under her touch like flesh. She looked down to see the floor rippling, faces pushing up from beneath as if trying to break through a membrane.

"This isn't real," Sarah muttered, her mantra becoming more desperate with each repetition. "This isn't real. This isn't real."

"Oh, but it is," the man countered, advancing on her. "More real than anything you've ever known. Look."

He thrust the phone toward her, and Sarah found she couldn't look away. On the screen, her form continued to warp and shift. Layers of skin and muscle peeled away, revealing a writhing mass of tentacles and eyes, mouths opening and closing soundlessly.

"That's not me," Sarah whimpered, even as doubt gnawed at her. "It can't be me."

The man's laughter filled the carriage, distorting and multiplying until it seemed to come from everywhere at once. "But it is you, Sarah. The real you. The you that's been hiding beneath the surface all this time."

Sarah's legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor. The faces beneath the surface pressed up against her, whispering words she couldn't quite make out. She could feel her grip on reality slipping away like sand through her fingers.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

The man crouched down in front of her, his face now a swirling kaleidoscope of features. "I want you to embrace the truth, Sarah. To stop hiding behind the lie of humanity."

As he spoke, tendrils of darkness began to seep from the edges of the phone's screen, reaching out toward Sarah. She tried to move, to get away, but her body felt heavy, unresponsive.

"No," she moaned, watching as the tendrils wrapped around her arms, her legs, creeping up toward her face. "Please, no."

The last thing Sarah saw before the darkness engulfed her was her own reflection in the phone's screen – a creature of chaos and madness staring back at her with too many eyes.

And somewhere in the distance, a train whistle sounded, heralding her arrival at a destination she never knew existed.

****

Sarah's eyes snapped open, a gasp tearing from her throat. She found herself sitting upright in one of the train's seats, her heart pounding frantically against her ribcage. Disoriented, she blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

The carriage looked... normal. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting their harsh glow over rows of empty seats. No writhing floors, no melting walls. Sarah's hands flew to her face, feeling smooth skin instead of the horrific transformation she'd witnessed earlier.

"Just a dream," she muttered, relief washing over her. "It was just a nightmare."

"Was it now?"

The voice, low and amused, came from right beside her. Sarah's blood ran cold as she slowly turned her head.

The man sat there, mere inches away, his face once again hidden beneath the brim of his hat. He was perfectly still, hands folded neatly in his lap.

Sarah scrambled out of her seat, nearly falling in her haste to put distance between them. "Stay away from me!" she shouted, her voice shrill with panic.

The man made no move to follow her. He simply sat there, an island of calm in the sea of Sarah's terror. "Now, now," he said, his tone maddeningly conversational. "Is that any way to treat a fellow passenger?"

Sarah backed away, her eyes never leaving the motionless figure. Her mind raced, trying to reconcile what she was seeing with the horrors she'd experienced. Had it truly all been a dream? But then how had she ended up seated next to this man?

"Who are you?" she demanded, hating the tremor in her voice. "What do you want from me?"

The man tilted his head slightly, and Sarah caught a glimpse of a smile beneath the shadow of his hat. "I thought we'd been through this already," he replied. "But if you insist on playing this game, by all means, continue."

A chill ran down Sarah's spine. This was wrong. All of it was wrong. She had to get away, had to find help. Her eyes darted to the door leading to the next carriage.

As if reading her thoughts, the man spoke again. "Running again, Sarah? You should know by now that it won't help."

But Sarah was already moving, lunging for the door. Her fingers closed around the handle, cool metal grounding her in reality for a brief moment. She yanked it open and threw herself through the gap between carriages.

The transition was instantaneous this time – no yawning void, no moment of non-existence. One second she was leaving a carriage, the next she was stumbling into an identical one.

And there, in the exact same seat, sat the man.

Sarah's mind reeled. She spun around, looking back the way she'd come, but the door had vanished. There was only an unbroken wall where it should have been.

"Impossible," she breathed, panic clawing at her throat.

"Is it?" the man asked, amusement coloring his tone. "I'd think you'd have a broader definition of 'possible' by now, Sarah."

She whirled to face him, anger momentarily overriding her fear. "Stop saying my name like you know me!" she snapped. "What is this place? What's happening to me?"

The man stood slowly, his movements fluid and unsettling. "Oh, but I do know you, Sarah," he said, taking a step toward her. "Better than you know yourself, I'd wager."

Sarah backed away, her heel hitting the wall behind her. There was nowhere left to run. "Please," she whispered, hating how small her voice sounded. "I just want to go home."

The man paused, cocking his head to the side. "Home?" he repeated, as if tasting the word. "And where exactly is that, Sarah? Can you even remember?"

Sarah opened her mouth to respond, to tell him about her apartment, about Tom waiting for her. But the words died on her tongue. She couldn't picture it. The details of her life, her home, even Tom's face – they were all hazy, indistinct, like a fading dream.

"I... I don't..." she stammered, confusion and fear warring within her.

The man took another step closer. "It's alright," he said, his voice suddenly gentle. "The forgetting is part of the process. You're almost there."

"Almost where?" Sarah asked, dreading the answer.

Before the man could respond, the carriage was plunged into darkness. The fluorescent lights flickered and died with a sharp buzz, leaving them in total blackness. Sarah's breath caught in her throat, her eyes straining to see anything in the oppressive dark.

"What's happening?" she called out, hating how small and scared she sounded.

The man's voice came from somewhere much closer than she expected. "The veil is thinning," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Look."

As if commanded by his words, a pale, ghostly light began to emanate from the windows of the carriage. Sarah turned, her eyes widening in horror at what she saw.

Faces pressed against the glass, dozens of them, their features twisted in silent screams. They were translucent, glowing with an eerie, otherworldly light. Eyes bulged, mouths gaped open, hands clawed desperately at the windows.

Sarah stumbled backward, a scream building in her throat. She collided with something solid – the man. His hands gripped her shoulders, holding her in place.

"Do you recognize them?" he asked, his voice low and insistent.

Sarah shook her head violently, trying to look away from the nightmarish visages. But her eyes were drawn back, again and again. And with each glance, a terrible realization began to dawn.

She did recognize them.

There was Mr. Carlson, her boss, his face contorted in an expression she'd never seen on him in life. Next to him, Sarah's college roommate, eyes wide and pleading. And there – oh God – there was Tom, her Tom, his features warped by terror and something else... accusation?

"No," Sarah moaned, sagging in the man's grip. "This isn't real. They can't be... I didn't..."

"Didn't you?" the man asked, his tone maddeningly calm. "Think, Sarah. Really think. What do you actually remember?"

Images flashed through Sarah's mind – fractured, disconnected. The office, staying late, the empty subway station. But before that... nothing. Just a vague sense of a life lived, but no concrete memories. No childhood, no first kiss, no wedding day. It was all a blank.

"I... I don't know," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I don't remember."

The man's grip on her shoulders tightened. "That's because it wasn't real," he said. "None of it was. Just a story you told yourself, a comfortable lie to hide from the truth."

Sarah's legs gave out, and she slumped to the floor. The man released her, stepping back. Through her tears, Sarah could see the ghostly faces pressing closer, their silent screams growing more frantic.

"What truth?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "What am I?"

The man crouched down in front of her, and for the first time, Sarah could see his face clearly. It was her own face staring back at her, but wrong – older, harder, with eyes that held infinite darkness.

"You're like me," her doppelganger said, a sad smile playing on its lips. "A traveler between worlds, a being of chaos and change. But you forgot, lost yourself in the lie of humanity."

Sarah shook her head, unwilling or unable to accept what she was hearing. "No," she insisted weakly. "I'm Sarah Winters. I have a husband, a job, a life."

Her double laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the darkened carriage. "Sarah Winters is a mask, a role you played for a while. But the play is over now. It's time to remember who you really are."

As if triggered by these words, pain lanced through Sarah's head. She cried out, clutching at her temples as memories – real memories – came flooding back. Centuries of existence, countless lives lived and discarded. Worlds explored and left in ruins. The intoxicating freedom of chaos, the thrill of transformation.

And the loneliness. The crushing, endless loneliness that had driven her to try and forget, to lose herself in the comforting lie of mortality.

"No," Sarah sobbed, curling in on herself. "I don't want to remember. Please, let me go back."

Her double placed a hand on her shoulder, its touch both familiar and alien. "I'm sorry," it said, genuine regret in its voice. "But you can't go back. The only way is forward."

The ghostly faces at the windows began to fade, their silent screams diminishing. As they disappeared, Sarah felt pieces of herself – the human self she had crafted – go with them. Tom's smile, the pride she felt at work, the simple pleasures of a life well-lived – all of it slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

"What happens now?" Sarah asked, looking up at her double with eyes that were rapidly losing their human appearance.

The other her smiled, extending a hand. "Now? Now we go home. Our real home."

Sarah hesitated for a moment, a last flicker of her human self resisting. But as the final traces of Sarah Winters faded away, she reached out and took the offered hand.

The world around them began to dissolve, the train carriage melting into swirling chaos. Sarah felt her body changing, shifting into something beyond human comprehension. And as the last vestiges of the reality she had known disappeared, she heard a voice – her own voice, but older, wiser, infinitely more powerful:

"Welcome back. The journey is just beginning."

The darkness swallowed them, and Sarah Winters ceased to exist. In her place, something ancient and terrible and wonderful emerged, ready to explore the infinite possibilities of existence once more.

And somewhere in the depths of the multiverse, a subway train continued its endless journey, carrying the echoes of countless forgotten lives.

[jjagainst]

Photography | Jed Olsen / Danny Johnson x Female reader

TW: Danny is a TW himself but blood, weapons, murder, stalking, language, mentions of sexual activities. WORD COUNT: 3690

You got his attention a few months ago, when the local newspaper hired you, a pretty new face around the workplace got Jed interested in you. Working together made you two grow closer and become friends eventually. The ambiance of the workplace was good, and even though he was nice to you, something felt off about him, but you couldn't really figure out what it was.

You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing. Last night you got home late and fell asleep on the couch without even changing your clothes. You checked the hour before answering, who would call you this late? "Hello?" You said with a sleepy voice. "Hey, (Y/N), I know it's late but we have work to do" "Jed? Man, what the hell do you mean we have work? It's three in the morning" "There's been another killing" That caught you by surprise. "What? Another one? This is getting worrying" You took a deep breath before standing up. "Where are you? I'm on my way" You grabbed your notebook, a pen, and your car keys and left. You were tired, but if you wanted to be the first newspaper to give the news you had to help your partner.

After what felt like an eternity you arrived at the place. There were a lot of blue and red lights glowing from the police cars, and there were more officers than you expected. You parked and approached the scene, sealed with yellow plastic tape. "Excuse me miss, but this is a crime scene, I'm afraid you'll have to leave" An officer stopped you before you could see anything. "Oh, I'm from the press, here's my- fuck, I forgot the ID at home" "I'm sorry ma'am but I can't let you speak to anyone or even be at the place if you don't show me the ID" You had taken a long drive there and you weren't leaving just because you forgot the identification at home. "Officer look-" "(Y/N)!" Both your eyes and the officer's landed on Jed, coming from behind the tape and holding an ID card. "I'm sorry officer, my partner is so absentminded sometimes, here's her ID" He handed it to the officer, who carefully examined it. "Okay, you can look around" He returned the paper and left you with Jed. "Hey, thank you, but why do you have a copy of my id?" "That doesn't matter, c'mon let's see what we can find" "You seem too excited to see a death body" "Yeah, isn't it cool?" "No, Jed I swear, you genuinely scare me sometimes" He laughed a bit at your comment. "Anyway, do you bribe the chief or something? Cause I still don't get how you are the first person to know when someone is been killed and how are we allowed to see the scene" He shrugged his shoulders "I don't know, I guess I'm just lucky" "Okay" You were too tired to keep asking questions, you just wanted to take a few pics of the scene and go back home to get some more sleep before going to the office in the morning.

Jed and you walked into a house, you were expecting it to have broken windows or a forced door, but everything was fine. Police officers were seen everywhere, trying to figure out what happened, and a trail of blood led you upstairs. "Gross" You said. Jed looked at you with a funny expression and grabbed your hand before leading you two upstairs. He opened one of the doors, just to be met with a fresh corpse. "Oh my god" You gagged as Jed placed his hand on your shoulder. "You never get used to this, do you? You okay?" You nodded "Yes, I just need a second" You took a deep breath and held the urge to throw up. You looked at your partner and then followed him inside the room. You first took a look at the place, it was a mess, and there were a few blood stains on the walls. Then, your gaze fixed on the dead body. It was a middle-aged man with several stab wounds all over his body. He was lying on a blood puddle and next to it, you could find a Polaroid picture. You approached the photo and without touching it you took a closer look. "Great, Jed come and see this, it's another Ghostface killing" "Not surprised" "Me neither, but it's the third one this month, I think this is more concerning than we thought" The picture was a selfie of Ghostface stabbing the man. It was common to find this kind of Polaroid pictures in his crime scenes. You took out your phone and took a few pictures of the Polaroid and the body, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. "(Y/N), let's see if any officer can give us something" You nodded and both of you started wandering around and trying to get some information from the officers, but only getting the same answer over and over again "We only now it's a victim of The Ghostface". You finally gave up and decided to wait for the next morning's official statement.

"Jed let's go, they're not gonna give us anything" He sighed, defeated "Fine" "Want me to take you home?" "That would be nice, thanks" "No problem" You tiredly smiled at him. The ride home was mostly quiet, both of you were tired and couldn't wait to get to bed. The morning after a killing was usually busy, with a lot of people doing research and hearing official statements from the police to write a good article.

The first one was a Polaroid picture of yourself he took on your first day at work. You were smiling, and holding a newspaper where you could clearly see a picture of The Ghostface. You were looking away, not noticing someone was taking a picture of you. On the back of the Polaroid, with a red marker he wrote "You cought my interest"

He took three photographs of you.

You rushed to your office as you were late to work. With huge eyebags and a tired smile, you got to your workplace. "Morning, Jed" "God, you look awful, did you sleep at all?" "Yes, but we have to stop doing this thing of sleeping two hours, going on an adventure, and then sleeping another two hours, it's not healthy" He laughed at your comment as you sat at your desk in front of him. "Did the police said anything yet?" You asked, curious. "No, not yet, but I don't think it will take them much longer" "Okay" You rubbed your eyes. "Oh, by the way, look at this" You showed him the picture. "I found this on the floor this morning, someone must have slid it under the doorframe" "Wow, looks like you have an admirer" Your eyes opened wide. "Jed this is so creepy, we have a serial killer killing people and leaving Polaroid pics and now I receive one? Maybe it's not related, maybe it is, but in any case, if there's someone here having a crush on me they can just tell me, it's not like I'm going to be rude or kill them or anything" "Yeah I guess you're right, you look cute on the pic tho" You smiled a bit. "Yeah, I guess"

. ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ .

The next few months were pretty calm, there haven't been any more killings and people felt a bit safer again, although you felt something was wrong, why would someone who killed regularly suddenly stop if they weren't even close to being caught?

Half an hour later, you got home. You left your things on the bed and went straight to the shower, cleaning yourself with warm water felt like heaven. You got tucked in a towel and went back to your room. It was dark outside already and a cool breeze came into the room through the window. You put on clean underwear and your favorite pajamas, and went downstairs to have dinner while watching a movie, just as you told Jed you were going to do. You don't know how many movies you watched until you fell asleep on the couch. It was almost 4am when the sound of someone knocking on your door woke you up. "What the hell" You rubbed your eyes and slowly approached the door. You opened it to find no one was there. "Hello?" You took a few steps outside and looked around, but it was empty, just you. "Very funny" you murmured to yourself. You took one last quick glance to make sure no one was there just to find a picture on the floor next to the door frame. "Oh no, not again" You rolled your eyes as you bent over next to it. You were about to pick it up when you noticed it was stained. "What the fuck, this guy's a pervert, this is so gross" You sighted as you went back in to grab a piece of paper and pick up the picture. "I don't care if it ruins the photo but I'm not touching this" You took it to the bathroom and put it under the faucet, letting the water clean it. After a couple minutes you felt it was already okay to see it.

"Morning" Jed entered the office, placing one cup of coffee on your desk and another on his. "Morning, thanks" You grabbed the coffee and took a sip. It was still pretty hot and you burned your mouth a bit. "You're early today" He smiled at you. "Yeah, I woke up early today" You shrugged your shoulders. "What are you working on?" "That article about the local fair, I have to hand it in later. Pretty boring" You rolled your eyes. "What do you have for today?" You asked. Jed was the best one writing articles and reports about murderers, and you helped him with it, but now that everything was calmer both of you divided the work and wrote about a bit of anything that was slightly interesting. "Nothing, I finished yesterday the article I was working on and handed it in before coming here, I thought maybe I could help you?" "That would be nice, 'cause all I've written so far is useless, it's genuinely so bad" You laughed a bit. Jed moved his chair to your side of the desk and sat next to you. "Okay, let's see" You liked working with Jed, he taught you a lot of things and was always nice to you. You got used to being with him and just his presence made you happy; without noticing, you had developed a church on you friend. After a few hours of writing, erasing, and rewriting, you finally managed to finish the article. "I think it looks good, thanks Jed" you smiled at him. "No problem" He returned the smile. "I'm going to hand this, I'll be right back, and then we can go home early" You returned to the office a few minutes later to pick up your things. "I love going home early" "Me too, I have more time to do nothing, what are your plans for the rest of the day" You shrugged your shoulders. "I don't know, get home, take a shower, eat some cheap pizza and fall asleep on the couch watching a movie. What about you?" You were genuinely interested, although you spent a lot of time with him, you barely knew anything about his private life. "I'll probably go for a night walk later, when everything is quiet. It's peaceful" "I like night walks too but I don't take them often, I like walking through the forest behind my backyard but I don't think it's the safest thing to do alone at night" Jed laughed. "Definitely not" You finished getting your thing ready to leave and said good bye to Jed as you walked towards the door. "See you tomorrow, Jed" You smiled at him. "Bye, (Y/N)" He returned the smile.

The second one, another Polaroid picture, covered in a sticky white liquid, showed your half-naked body. You were at the window frame of your room changing your clothes, only wearing panties and putting on a shirt, it had been taken before, when you came out of the shower. In the back you could read "You are pretty" and a lot of red hearts around the text.

You spent the rest of the night awake. You closed all the windows, drew the curtains, and sat on the couch waiting for a response to your text or at least to be the time to take off to work. A few minutes later, you received a phone call. "Hi, (Y/N) are you okay" Jed seemed worried about you. "Hi, I thought you were sleeping, I'm fine, I just got nervous and didn't know what to do. I only received the picture, there was no one around" "It's okay, I woke up a couple hours back and couldn't fall asleep again. You sound upset, do you want me to go stay with you?" "N-no, don't worry, I'm fine, it's late and I don't want to make you take the trip all the way here" "Hey it's fine, it's not like I'm sleeping again. I'm on my way" And just like that, he hung up the phone. About twenty minutes later, he was at your place. "Hey, (Y/N), you sure you're okay?" You nodded. "I was just feeling a bit shaken up, I mean, it's a creepy situation" You two sat on the couch and patiently waited for it to be the time to go to work. You felt bad that Jed made it all the way to your home because you were nervous, but at the same time you were grateful, he was reassuring and made you feel much better.

"You've got to be kidding" A feeling of nervousness and disgust took over your body. Just a few hours before, someone had taken a picture of you on your own house and purposely gave it to you, as if to tell you that you were being observed. You didn't know what to do, you felt unsafe and you weren't sure if calling the police was rash, so you decided to wait and text Jed. You sent him a picture of the polaroid from both sides and a message telling him what happened. "Hi Jed, I know it's late but I wasn't sure of what to do. Someone woke me up and left a picture on my door. I couldn't see him but the guy jerked off on the photo and left it here. I don't know if I'm getting stalked or sexually harassed or what but this is getting worrying and disgusting. I took it as a joke when I received that one picture a few months ago but this? The photo is from tonight, when I got home earlier. I don't know what to do"

. ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ .

As time passed, Jed and you grew closer and closer, until it was obvious you liked each other. None of you wanted to take a first step, dating a work partner was not something that usually went well, and for now, you were fine with just being friends. From time to time, you meet to go out for a walk, to drink a coffee or just to spend some time together; silly dates none of you were brave enough to call them as so.

You were about to leave the office when Jed stopped you. "Hey, there's a new restaurant nearby, I thought maybe we should give it a try? What about having dinner tonight?" You nodded. "That sounds nice, see you later then" You went home and changed clothes, choosing something between casual and elegant, not wanting to look very formal but also not wanting to look very casual; and did a light makeup. You were going to have dinner with a friend, but he wasn't just a friend, you liked him a lot and you wanted to look nice. It didn't took you long to get to the restaurant, arriving at the same time as Jed. "You look beautiful, (Y/N)" You blushed at his words. "Thanks"

The dinner was nice and you had a good time together, talking about everything and anything. There was a connection between you two. After leaving the restaurant, you went for a walk in the dark of the night. The temperature was cool and there was a soft breeze, but it was a nice feeling. Without noticing, you eventually got to Jed's place. "I had fun tonight, we should do this more often" You smiled at him. "I totally agree" He returned the smile. "Oh by the way, there's a Halloween party tomorrow night at the office, if you want to come with me" Your face lit up "Of course, I didn't have planned anything for tomorrow night, so yes, count with me, it can be fun" "Great" You looked at him for a second, his smile, his black eyes, his dark hair, he was so beautiful. A small smile appeared on your face and your cheeks went slightly red as he maintained visual contact. Jed raised his hand and slowly caressed your face for a moment before pulling you in for a kiss. His soft lips pressed against yours felt like heaven. He hugged you by the waist as you carefully placed your hands on his shoulders. You only pulled apart when you ran out of air. "D-do you want to come inside?" Your heart skipped a bit. "Yes" You said softly.

You spent the night together. A night full of passion, kisses and hugs; a night full of love. A night you wished would last forever. In the morning, you woke up laying on his chest, his arms around you holding you tenderly. You moved slightly, just enough to see his face. He was awake too, as soon as his eyes met yours, his sleepy expression turned into a smile, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. You buried your face in his chest for a few seconds before moving to his side. "Good morning" His voice was hoarse. "Morning" You still were sleepy. He stroke your hair for a few seconds before getting out of bed. "Want some breakfast?" You nodded and got out of bed too. Both of you got dressed and went to the kitchen to eat something. Right now, you were the happiest person on earth. Life felt like a dream, everything was perfect. "I'm going home, I want to shower and change clothes before tonight's party" "Okay. I'll pick you up if you're fine with it" "Yes, of course, that would be lovely" "Nice, see you at six then?" "Perfect" He smiled and gave you a kiss before you left.

You took a warm shower and dressed up. Although you were not a fan of costumes, it was Halloween, even something simple would work, so you chose to be a witch. A nice black dress and a hat made it. At exactly 6 pm, your doorbell rang. "Coming!" You looked at yourself in the mirror for a second before heading to the door. You felt pretty. You looked pretty. You opened the door to find a Ghostface costume before yourself. "Oh God Jed, that's creepy" The man just stared at you. "Come in for a moment, I'll grab my bag and we're good to go" You closed the door and turned around to go to your room and get your things. "You okay? You seem quiet" He nodded. Something was wrong. He was usually a talkative man, but now he was just silent and he wouldn't stop looking at you for a second. He suddenly handed you a picture. You looked at him confused, and then stared at the picture.

The third photograph wasn't a Polaroid, but a picture he took with a digital camera and then printed. In the picture, you and Jed were seen together, having sex. In the back, the words "I want to hear you scream again" were written with blood.

"What the fuck, Jed" "It's Danny, actually" "What?" You were confused and terrified. You froze in place and a sudden feeling of anxiety started to take over you. He pointed a knife at your throat. "So, this is the thing. Name's Danny, and you're the first person to know I'm The Ghostface. I assume you understand I have to kill you, I can't let you live now that you know it, but if it makes you feel any better I have to admit that you're special. I had fun with you and you were an interesting person, but all good things must come to an end, don't you think?" He laughed. "Y-you've been lying to me all this time" A tear ran down your cheek. "Well, yes" A quick move of his hand got his knife in your throat, causing a deep wound. It hurt. A lot of blood started to come out of the wound as you desperately tried to cover it with your hands in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. You looked at the now named Danny with an expression of horror in your eyes. He just chuckled and stabbed you multiple times before you ran out of strength. You lied on the floor, full of painful wounds around your body, next to the man you loved. He betrayed you, and that hurt much more than any stab wound he could cause you. Now, you were going to be another name on the list, another victim of a serial killer that was far to be caught.

He took one last photograph of you.

He captured your almost lifeless body on the floor, covered in blood. Multiple stab wounds around your stomach, back and neck. Blood covering the kitchen floor and pouring out of your mouth and wounds, the last breath of life coming out as tears flowing down your eyes. You looked at him one last time, seeing that Polaroid camera taking one last picture of you.

Author note: GUYS AAAh I'm sorry I took a nap a few days back while going back home from vacation and dreamed of this idea, I just built it up and I thought it might be a good idea to write it down. Also yes, I feel Danny is a completely degenerate person and this kind of liar/manipulative behavior suits him. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it ^^

"I'm sorry honey, it's a waste having to kill you, you're so pretty and it was fun all the time we spent together, but I had to do it, I have to keep telling stories about killings. I hope you're not mad at me, you're gonna look amazing in tomorrow's newspaper front page"

. ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ .