#the Murder Coat is ready to come to life

[andy-clutterbuck]

8x14 | Still Gotta Mean Something

[babyfoxflower]

The Hunter and the Hunted

Human! Alastor x Fem! Reader

*Disclaimer: This story is an AU and does not follow Hellaverse canon. Alastor is pretty much just a hetero, if this offends you in anyway, then I suggest you block me and go on your way.*

Synopsis: This the story of Alastor and the love of his life, his huntress, the charming Y/n Rosier. A rare beauty out on the bayou, his heart is instantly stolen by her. He’ll do anything for his beloved, even if that includes murder.

Story Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Violence, Blood, Hunting, Murder, Mentions of Child Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, 1920s Attitudes Towards Women

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All week long, both Alastor and Y/n could not stop thinking about each other. The desire to see each other was so intense, it was almost like a calling. Like they were being pulled together by an unseen force.

Y/n rolled out of bed. It was just before dawn, light hadn’t even managed to reach the window. She had an interesting dream the night prior. It was her in the snow, only wearing her pink slip. Tears were streaming down her face, she fell to her knees and sobbed so hard that she couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, someone came up from behind her, placing what felt like a coat on her shoulders before scooping her up in their strong arms. The warmth enveloped her body as she felt herself slowly calming down, when she looked up at who was holding her, it was him. It was Alastor.

The look he gave her was the most comforting she had ever seen in her entire life. She buried her face into his chest, the feeling that she was perfectly safe and protected washed over her. The feeling that she was where she belonged, and was with who she belonged to and who belonged to her in return.

“That was some dream,” Y/n smiled to herself.

Time to get up.

She got cleaned and dressed before anyone else was even awake. That was part of her duties as the acting head of the house. The rest of the morning for her consisted of hanging the laundry to dry, cooking breakfast for her family, waking her sisters up, made sure they were fed, bringing food to her mother in bed, and then finally she got to sit down and eat.

That was how it was every single morning for her. She always ate last. After breakfast, she helped her sisters get ready for Saturday catechism classes. They were held in a little school house about a mile away from their house. She packed their lunches and sent them off with a kiss and a hug.

After checking in on her mother a few more times, Y/n finally had some free time to herself. She thought back to her dream and what it could possibly mean. Part of her was hopeful that it was a message from some higher power that Alastor was going to be the one to save her from this repetitive life.

Sure, she loved her family. She loved her family more than anything. But she also felt the stress taking its toll on her.

What selfish fantasies…absolutely selfish.

Then the familiar sound of the bell came from her mother’s bedroom, snapping her back to reality.

“Coming, Mama!”

———————————————————————

Strangely, Alastor woke up that same morning from that exact same dream that Y/n had. Of course, there was no way of knowing that. Alastor laid there for a moment, missing the feeling of her small body against his.

“Mm…Y/n. Let me hold you just a little bit longer, my dear,” he groaned.

“Alastor! Wake up, Darling! It’s time for breakfast!” His mother called from downstairs.

He rubbed his temples before reaching over to grab his glasses off his nightstand, “I’ll be down in a minute, Mother!”

A smile crept on his face as he realized it had been exactly a week since he seen her. The day he planned to visit her.

I can’t wait to see her.

He got cleaned and dressed before making his way downstairs. His mother was already sitting at the table, eating breakfast.

“Good morning, Mother,” he said as he gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Good morning, Honey. Porridge is on the stove, help yourself,” she replied.

“Alright. Thank you.”

Alastor fixed a bowl of porridge and poured a cup of black coffee for himself. Then he took a seat at the table across from her.

“Make sure you say Grace.”

He sighed and clasped his hands together, “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen,” he finishes with the sign of the cross.

“The Lord thanks you,” she smiled.

Alastor almost rolled his eyes but he knew better.

“So, are you going to tell me about that girl you met last Saturday?” Her eyes met his, a brow raised.

He took a sip of his coffee, “Why?”

“Because I’m your mother and I want to know what’s going on in your life.”

“She needed help carrying a stag she shot back home, so I gave her a hand.”

“Are you sure that’s all?” His mother questioned further.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just you were gone an awful long time. And you’ve been acting strangely since.”

He looked at her with a face of utter confusion, “Strangely? What ever could you mean, Mother?”

She paused, “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you seem to have your head up in the clouds more. Like you’re dreaming about something or someone?”

Damn, she’s caught on to me. I swear nothing gets past her.

“I…I can’t stop thinking about her. But that’s all I say about that,” Alastor looked down at his bowl.

“Hmm, I figured as much. So, you’re going to go see her again today?”

“How did you know?” He blushed.

“Haha! I didn’t until just now, Darling. It’s cute, you have a crush!”

“Don’t say that, Momma….” He mumbled under his breath, pouting.

“Aw, you haven’t called me Momma in years! My baby has a crush! My baby has a crush!” She teased.

“Stop!” He put his hands over his ears, as his face turned scarlet.

His mother cackled, “Alright, I’ll leave it. I’ll leave it.”

“Thank you,” he said before finishing his breakfast.

———————————————————————

“Give your little girlfriend a hello from me,” his mother said from her rocker, cigarette in one hand, newspaper in the other.

Alastor ignored her comment, “I’ll be back in a little while.”

“Alastor.”

“Yes, Mother?”

“I love you.”

His face softened, “I love you too, Mother.”

The leafs and twigs crunched under Alastor’s brow leather boots. There was a chill in the air. It was surprisingly cold for October, especially in Louisiana.

Alastor preferred summer, when it was too hot to think. Because when it was too hot to think, it was too hot to remember.

He couldn’t remember that night if it was summer. But on a cold day like this one, that nipped and stung, he couldn’t help remembering that painful night.

He put those memories in the little box he kept in the back of his mind.

Not today. We’re not reliving that today.

After a while, he finally came upon that familiar cabin with the picket fence. There raking up the leaves was her. It was Y/n.

“A pleasure to see you again, Sweetheart,” he grinned as he greeted her.

She smiled brightly as she looked up at him, “A pleasure to see you as well, Sugar.”

———————————————————————

“You have a lovely home,” Alastor took off his hat as he entered.

“Oh, thank you. I try to keep it as tidy as I can. Go ahead and have a seat at the table,” Y/n closed the door behind them, “Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble, I actually just made a pot. I like having hot coffee on a cold day.”

Alastor took a seat at the kitchen table as Y/n walked over with two mugs and a pot of coffee.

“Do you take cream or sugar?” She poured some into each of the mugs.

“Neither.”

“Good, I take mine black too,” she handed one of the cups to him.

“Thank you, my dear,” he smiled at her.

She took a seat across from him, “So, is there is a reason that you stopped by or did you just want to see me?”

Alastor raised an eyebrow, “And what if I did just stop to see you?”

Oh god, I hope I’m doing this flirting thing right.

Y/n took a sip of her coffee, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind, that’s for sure.”

“Then, my dear, you’ll be pleased to know that I did come by to see you.”

She blushed, “You did!? I mean, so you did?”

Alastor chuckled, “Yes. You see, I enjoyed your company so much that I wanted to converse with you again.”

“I wanted to see you again too.”

His heart skipped a beat, “I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he took a sip of his coffee.

“Hotdog! This is a good cup of joe!” He exclaimed.

“Really? I didn’t do anything special to it.”

“Sweetheart, you have a talent for coffee making if I do say so myself! This is even better than my mother’s!”

That was the highest praise Alastor could ever give anyone, when he admitted that they made something better than his mother.

“Thank you! I’m so happy you like it. No one’s ever told me that before,” Y/n smiled shyly.

“So, where are those little ones I saw last time?”

“Oh, my sisters, they’re at catechism classes.”

Alastor groaned, “Ugh, I hated those classes. They were so dreadfully boring.”

“Haha, I didn’t really like them either. But it’s a family tradition.”

“Are you religious, my dear?”

“I guess not in the sense that most people are. I believe in God but I believe it’s more of a force that gives you messages when in hard times. I do believe in prayer too. But I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell. And I don’t believe any of that nonsense that’s in the Bible,” she replied.

“That’s an interesting take. I personally don’t believe in God at all.”

“Oh, I’ve never met someone who doesn’t believe in God in way or another. Is there a specific reason? I’m not judging, I’m just curious.”

Alastor took another sip of his coffee, “I just do not understand how people can still believe in things like God when the theory of Evolution has been proven. I’m a believer in science. In things that you can see with your own two eyes.”

Y/n sat looking thoughtfully, “Couldn’t science and religion exist together? Couldn’t they both be true?”

“That’s also a good point. I’m not someone who looks down on people of Faith, my own mother is one. I just don’t understand it. There’s also the question of why? Why would a higher power let terrible things happen to innocent people? Why would they let that happen to…. I’m sorry, dear. I’m rambling,” he laughed a little.

“It’s alright, I like listening to you and your thoughts,” she smiled sweetly.

“And I enjoy listening to you and your opinions,” he returned the smile.

“But, there’s one thing I’m sure we can agree on. That creation myth is a load of bull.”

“Yes. I completely agree with that!”

“I mean, why would a creator make only a male of species? Why wouldn’t they make men and women at the same time?”

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense. You need a male and a female in order to procreate.”

“It’s basic biology!” Y/n chuckled.

Alastor noticed an old little piano in the corner of the living area, “Is that the piano you were telling about before?” He motioned his head towards it.

“Oh, yes. It is,” she turned in the direction of it.

“Do you mind if I get a closer look? I’m quite keen on instruments.”

“Be my guest.”

He stood up and walked over to the piano. She followed behind him. He ran his fingers gently over the keys.

“I haven’t played it in a while, so it might need some tuning,” she informed him.

Softly, he pressed one of key down, a pleasant sound was produced, “May I? Play something for you?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

He sat on the bench and patted the spot next to him, “Don’t be shy, Sweetheart. I don’t bite.”

Y/n’s face flushed, “How do you know I don’t bite?”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he grinned.

She sat next to him. His fingers began dancing along the keys with such beauty and grace, like a professional pianist. He played a melody that she didn’t recognize, but it sounded absolutely lovely. And that was before he began singing.

I have an ear for music, and I have an eye for a maid

I like a pretty girlie, with each pretty tune that's played

They go together

Like sunny weather

Goes with the month of May

I've studied girls and music, so I'm qualified to say

His voice was so smooth and beautiful, she was entranced. He looked at her as he played, watching her expressions with amusement. He loved to entertain. He was a bit of a ham. But it might have also been because he was showing off for the little lady that caught his eye.

A pretty girl is like a melody

That haunts you night and day

Just like the strain

Of a haunting refrain

She'll start upon a marathon and run around your brain

You can't escape she's in your memory

By morning, night and noon

She will leave you and then

Come back again

A pretty girl is just like a pretty tune

He came to a finish and she applauded him.

“That was wonderful!”

“Thank you. Thank you,” he playfully bowed to her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that song before. What’s it called?”

“A Pretty Girl Is Like A Melody by Irving Berlin. I heard it on the radio one day. I couldn’t agree more with its lyrics,” Alastor smiled while looking right into her eyes.

Y/n blushed, “Is there a reason why you chose that song?”

“Other than the pretty girl in front of me who inspired it, no.”

Y/n’s heart was pounding in her chest.

“That was gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous!” A sudden voice came from behind them.

Y/n turned around to see her mother out of bed, “Mama, you shouldn’t be out of bed! Doctor’s orders, remember?”

“Ah Mrs. Rosier, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure. I apologize if I disturbed you, I was just playing your daughter a song,” Alastor stood up and greeted the woman.

“Well, play me a song now please! Talented young man!” Y/n’s mother replied.

Alastor looked at Y/n. Y/n shrugged.

“I suppose it would be alright.”

“Very well. I’ll gladly entertain you two lovely ladies for as long as you like.”

“Hold on, Mama. Let me get you a chair,” Y/n said.

———————————————————————

Alastor got home just in time for dinner.

“How was your girlfriend?” His mother playfully asked.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Mother. At least not yet,” he said that last part under his breath.

“Well, did you have a good time at least?”

“The best,” he smiled softly.

“That’s wonderful. Now, go get washed up for dinner. We’re having jambalaya.”

“Jambalaya!” He exclaimed with almost a child like glee.

“Yes, jambalaya. Go get washed up already, boy!”

“Yes, Mother.”

He practically ran upstairs, as if that would make it cook faster.

His mother shook her head, “What am I going to do with him?”

Taglist 🏷️: @chibistar45 @ghostofajinx @girl-math-aint-mathing @91062854-ka @harmfulb1tch @2dmenforme @ladyadrasteia666 @uniquecutie-puffs @vxllys

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Heart on the bayou - Prolouge

Synopsis: With a serial killer on the loose, you’ve been working non-stop as the lead detective on the case, catching the Bayou killer, leaving a trail of dead bodies in their wake. When your sister tells you she’s engaged to the famous radio host of New Orleans, things begin to feel that much more…worse.

Warning: Mentions of murder, typical time period racism, takes place in the 1920’s - 1930’s, Detective! Reader x Alastor

A/n: This story is probably going to be posted on my Wattpad soon, and if you don’t know already my user on Wattpad is whoevenisthis_0. This actually started off as just an idea but I felt like I could expand more on it, so here we are. Let me know if you guys are interested in this and I might make this a short series! :) This was just an idea I had

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

“You can’t marry him, you’ve only known him three weeks!” You protested, standing at the table. Your sister bordered teary-eyed, while her fiance consoled her. “What are you to do if he drops you like a fly after your marriage?!” You asked, face heating up. Your father stood.

“That is enough.” He said sternly, but you shook your head.

“No! I will not stand for this!” You yelled, your sister glaring at you, before she stood up, slamming her hands on the dinner table. Your mother jumped, sitting in silence and watching everything unfold.

“It isn’t my fault you’re lonely! I have a life Y/n, just accept it and be happy for me!” Your sister argued. You shook your head, putting your utensils on your plate before picking it up and walking to the kitchen.

“No Seline, you just don’t understand how foolish you’re being.” You say, scraping the food off of your plate and into the trash, hearing your sister, Seline, follow you into the kitchen.

“I am not being foolish! You’ve never been in love, you would never know!” Your sister exclaimed watching you set the dish in the sink. From the doorway, your parents stood, watching their children argue.

“Fine! Marry him then! Go off and have babies and do what couples do!” You yelled at her, walking past her and through the dining room, down the hall to the coat rack where you took your hat and coat, sliding into it quickly. Your sister still followed after you.

“I will! You’re so buried into this ‘killer’ that you have no life Y/n! You don’t live!” She shouted as you opened the front door, ready to leave. The air was cold as it hit your legs, walking down the steps quickly, your sister following closely behind. She puts her hand on your shoulder when you step on the sidewalk, turning you around to face her.

“Seline please, if anything you’re too trusting. You’re a child and I want nothing to do with this.” You say quietly to her, embarrassed to even be arguing outside. You refused to look like a mad woman out on the street.

“You’re just jealous because you know you’ll die alone.” Seline said harshly, before she covered her mouth quickly with a gasp, eyes flying wide. You said nothing, turning away from her with an unexplainable look in your eye. Your job wasn’t for nothing, all you needed to do was prove it.

You’ll come out on top. No matter what.

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

Tourniquet

DUNCAN VIZLA X READER

⚠️ Warnings: Uhhh kinda extreme gore, I mean I definitely go into intense detail about some of the way these people die so probably don't read this if you're squeamish, blood, death, murder, language, mentions of drugs and alcohol, I think that's it but yeah ⚠️

Duncan comes to save you and risks his life in the process.

Duncan had originally wanted nothing more than to retire from this god-forsaken line of work he'd been in for over thirty years. To succumb fully to the relaxation that was unemployed bliss, somewhere far off in the lost woods with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Maybe he'd try for another dog again, although he wasn't too lucky with his PTSD responses around Rusty. Wherever in the world he may be or whomever he'd be with, he just wanted some goddamn peace and quiet, thankyouverymuch.

Today, he was not so lucky. Of course, he had to take the one job offer to end his career with a bang and to coagulate all of the money he'd originally been promised to begin with. One job after another, one shot fired towards a man's head and a stapler gun to his ankles, all led him here. At the front of this house. On a rescue mission. Which would then lead to a hitman mission. Obviously. Unfortunately.

Duncan sighed and took in the landscape with his one good eye, courtesy of the copious amount of torture he'd pushed through over the past month. Although his wounds were still healing and he felt their burn underneath the folds of his fabric coat, he had to act fast as there was no time to waste. He needed to put his life on the line once again; as he had for so many years working as a hitman. But now, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. A reward to his revenge. Nothing that was false promises of money or strippers or nights out at the bar that would only situate him for a week before he grew bored. No, at the end of this mission was the promise of your safety and the potential of the two of you living this retired life he'd dreamt of for so long.

He only had to kill 30+ men and his former "mission mates" before getting to you and fleeing this Damocles shit for good.

Easy, in theory. In actuality, he was probably going to end up dead. Unless he could control himself through his rage and use it as an adrenalin boost rather than a distraction to his plan.

The mansion was huge and lavish in comparison to the wood houses Duncan had come to love in Montana. It was almost entirely frivolous; the magnitude of Blut's weath, all gained from those who did his dirty work and never out of his own aspirations.

Seeing the coast was fairly clear, he crafted a plan in his head as to how he was going to make it in and out of the place unscathed. Two guards to his left on the rooftop, facing outwards. Meaning that there must be at least another two on the other side, not knowing from which direction he'd come. Another one in the upper right window that could easily be taken out with a sniper. A few fifteen or so on the ground in hidden positions, all of which he knew considering he used to work for the damn place. Assuming Blut's usual stupidity would mean that the plans for an attack on Damocles would be unchanged, minus those who were inside of the place itself.

Time for action. He took off his heavy coat and draped it on the tree nearest to him so as not to be weighed down by the material. His thick wool sweater would be more than enough to keep him warm, alongside his steel-toed boots. Underneath his coat and concealed by his initial wardrobe was a now visible belt with two loaded guns on either side. His hand was clad with brass knuckles and he had a knife in his boot, only for an extreme situation. Worse comes to worse, he still had that piece of shrapnel under the second layer of his skin from one of his older missions he could cut out if he really had to. Eyepatch in place and hair tied in an up-do, he was ready to start shooting people.

Hey, maybe if they were all dead he'd finally get his $8 million he'd been promised.

It happened as quickly as the next snowflake hit the ground; Blut's mansion was under attack. They'd been expecting him, but as he was called The Black Kaiser, he was the best of the best. He knew their ins and outs and was now thankful he kept a friendly but protective distance from everyone while he was in the org so that they wouldn't know the specificities for his own attack. One skillful shot to the top left roof was enough to pierce through the necks of both the men standing atop it, one falling off after the other and landing on the ground with a thick thud. Blasted through arteries and a fuckton of blood pooled out the edges from where they'd fallen, creating intricate patterns on the wintery terrain and leaving giant stains on the sides of the building.

Now understanding their mission was a go, the man from the window received the hint and withdrew himself from the window, racing back inside most likely to tell Blut about the outside commotion. No matter. He'd take his time to paint the entirety of the green estate red with the fallen victims of Damocles.

He'd been right about the guards from the top of the building being on the other side, except there were three instead of two. They rushed around looking for the potential places Duncan could be hiding, so as to scope him out first and be the ones to receive the praise from their fat ass nepo-baby boss. They must all be younger and have no idea the amount of years and experience he'd had in this industry because Duncan was in plain fucking sight with his guns readied in both hands.

"Bye." He said, and shot them at the same time, making two of the guards meet the same tragic fate as their friends. One, two, they hit the ground with more thuds and guts, spreading their entrails further out than most people would think the human body could reach. One of their intestines had wrapped around the edges of the window panes, a man still alive wishing he wasn't. He was screaming from the upper floor awaiting his fall as he was held up by the gaping wound in his stomach where Duncan had shot him once more. The last guard at the top of the roof looked down in horror and jumped himself, taking his own life and going limp once his neck made a loud snap against the pavement under the soft snow.

PTSD flashbacks edged the corners of Duncan's one-eyed vision, trying their best to stop him as he witnessed the horror of human death via his hands. He was used to this feeling, of wanting to curl up and revert into himself, to never see anyone or anything again and be tortured as payment for his crimes. He was just a man, not a deity. Why should he choose- or rather- listen to who chooses who should meet an untimely death? What makes him above the others within his species?

Because of their frequent visits, he shut his visions down and went soulless. That was the only way to truly do his job and to continue to do it well within the moment and not fight with the side that was desperate to live in peace and an understanding of humanity. He was a pacifist at heart, truly. And even though it went against his psychological beliefs of the world, he had to pretend that intentions outweighed his actions in the sense of his killing and this mission; that getting to you was worth the rampant murderous spree of all these people, paid by their boss just as he was to do the same tasks he's doing.

Burrowing into himself, he rolls to the nearest icicle filled tree, grabbing the man who was hidden here with the gun and twisting his neck until he heard the sounds of life escaping his throat. He discarded his now empty gun for the one in the holster of the other man, making sure it was fully loaded before proceeding to also extract the menthols from the upper part of the stranger's jacket.

"Mange Tak." He said, Danish for thank you. He could have a little class while he was at it.

Noticing the tree he was under and the man whom he'd just killed, Blut was either following their Five-Ten plan or the Outskirts plan, both of which were effective in combat. The Five-Ten plan was created by Vivian herself meaning that there would be five on the perimeter of the compound, five on the rooftop, and ten within the building before whomever was entering made it inside. Then, after getting through the frontlines of security (if they made it that far), whomever was infiltrating would meet the guards who allowed their cohorts to be killed as preparation time for the main show.

The Outskirts plan, however, would mean that every man who wasn't directly appointed as an assassin to Blut's side would be out in the fields which were now covered in snow, using the trapdoors hidden in the earth to prepare their weapons for combat and kill the intruder as he (or she) approached the compound.

He was going to take his bets with the Five-Ten.

Heart barely going over an easy 65bpm, he calmly readied his guns for the next part of the infiltration where a few other guards would pop up and flock to his sides, hoping that they might catch him off-guard. Which they wouldn't. Another few shots took care of those and as he wiped the blood off his face from the splatter of one of them, he lit a cigarette and started walking towards the front of the compound, taking his chances that he knew which plan they had chosen considering he'd killed most of the other ones when he'd killed Vivian during their surprise attack not even hours before he got here.

Stepping over the walkway and opening the doors to the inside, he'd been proven correct in his intuition and flanked to the wall, keeping himself out of sight to those in the building. There were three open entryways leading from the main hall to the upstairs where the pig himself resided. Which meant around six of those corners could be another guard and he'd have to take his shots carefully, unless he wanted to engage in hand-to-hand combat which didn't always end well when your opponent had a firearm. He checked his inventory quickly.

Six bullets left. He'd have to be stingy about it.

Holding the trigger and aiming the barrel towards his right, he took a shot through the ornate pillars holding up the entryway's corbel arch, a bullet forcing itself through the small opening in which the wall met the pillar. He heard an "oomph!" which he gathered triumphantly signified his tactic of approach was also correct.

Can't teach an old dog new tricks.

Rolling to the floor into the room from whence the sound came, he staggered over to the next wall and shot through the entryway, shooting the man in the room in the leg. Fuck. Slight misstep on his account (or the other guy's considering he no longer had the bottom half of his leg). He dodged the man's bullets and lifted one of the cylindrical vases decorating the hallway and bashed it into the man's skull, once, twice, and then dropping it as he watched blood ooze from his nose. A sound from behind him meant another and he was met with hands wrapping around his throat and a gun being pressed to his temple.

This man was much bigger in stature than Duncan, but it was no matter. He swiftly acted as though he were aiming for his opponent's side as they would have practiced for upon initiation training. Seeing the man respond confidently to where he'd presumed Duncan would strike meant he'd left his nuts unguarded to which Duncan kicked in with precision. The man screamed, letting go of his counterpart and went to hold himself in anguish. Duncan mercilessly grabbed the weapon from his hands and shot through the one holding his injured manhood, shooting off his limb and probably the area underneath.

A few more men appeared from the entryways, and, after killing them all with a few more bullets than needed considering he had two guns now and maybe a hit to the face with his brass knuckles; he made his way to the top of the stairs, ready for whatever else would come. He could take on twenty more of them before expressing any ounce of fatigue as he'd trained his whole life for missions like this.

However, it was just you in the room.

Almost entirely taken aback by the slumped position you were in bound to that chair in the middle of the room, Duncan froze in his advances. He didn't let his guard down, no, but he took careful detail to the contortions of your face and the state of your being from which he could make out from this distance. Your long hair fell from the roots of your head which seemed to still be intact (thank god), but your skin was an ashy grey and blood had littered your hands and chest area. It was deep and dark and so red, redder than he'd felt he'd ever seen before and the PTSD was back, clawing at his chest and vision through his one good eye, all of his labors seemingly returning to dust. If you were dead, it would be the death of all deaths despite having only known you for a short period of time.

It had been the way you'd entered his house for the first time that caught him winded, hands tucked into the pockets of your long coat that kept you warm and smelling like the vanilla candles that littered your house. Your flushed cheeks from being out in the cold. Your smile as he'd offered you a sip of his hot chocolate, only to find out it had an added hint of whiskey. Your face when he'd kissed you for the first time. The hug you'd given him after.

It took fifty years of his life to finally admit it to himself and to anyone else who'd listen to the raspy notches in his throat as he exclaimed that he was, indeed, in love. And it was, indeed, with you.

"Something caught your eye, Kaiser?" Blut's agonizing and cruel voice caught the echos of the marble flooring and flooded the room, signaling his emergence from the darkness. He was wearing his stupid, douchebaggy jacket with a shit eating grin nearly reaching the corners of his eyes. This was the man whom he'd worked for all these years, pledged his loyalty to despite having no ounce of previous companionship with him. The one who owed him $8 million and the one who'd sent out his own personal hitman army to kill Duncan and get away with it so he would no longer be a liability to the company.

"She'd better be alive, or I'll skewer your head on that fucking Damocles sword you have above the mantle." He nearly spat out, taking his time to enunciate the weight of every word that escaped his lips, forcing them out in such an anger that anyone would feel in the depths of their bones. Blut, however, could care less.

"Oh she's alive." Made sure to keep her that way for you." He said, sauntering towards her seemingly lifeless body and tilting her chin upwards to finally reveal her face. "Thought she could use some plastic surgery though, don't you think Duncan?"

It was as if a knife had pierced his chest then and there. Your face, which had been absolutely perfect upon anyone's first glance, now was missing an eye on the opposite side of his own. Flesh had been carved out around it, which meant it would leave a scar possibly even nastier than his. He wanted to throw up at the idea someone could've taken something so important to you and destroy a piece of your life forever. He then thought maybe that was how his victims' families felt, learning that their fathers or brothers had passed due to the brutality of murder.

But you were still beautiful. And he had to save you still.

"Duncan... you're not responding?" Blut taunted with his awful voice, ringing the question in his ears and twisting the metaphorical knife even further into his chest. Duncan knew he'd need to snap out of the hold of his traumas and force himself to swallow anything else other than the situation at hand in order to save you...and himself.

"You're fucking dead. Don't you fucking touch her." Duncan said, grabbing the hefty sword of the supposed Damocles mansion from the mantle near him, letting the blade drag on the floor before discarding his gun entirely and picking up the sword. It had to have been at least four feet long with a shiny hilt and an even shinier blade which would be stained with the blood of the man before him in the time it'd take to say the sword's name. He would avenge this piece of your life that had been wrongfully taken from you.

A little less smug now, Blut reached into his pocket and withdrew a gun. "Y-y-you fucking stay back Kaiser! I won't hesitate to blow your head off!!"

"Where are your other men? Or are you truly so out of options that you're here alone?" Duncan growled, his discarded gun going into the fireplace, and, with a loud boom, caught the floor and curtains surrounding it on fire. The flames twisted and danced against in the reflection of his newfound weapon, a proper visual to the fire that licked his veins with the rage he felt. He continued his progression to your chair, sparing you a softer glance, before focusing everything onto the man before him who was now cowering by the window on the wall.

It was as if he were a child who'd been told hiding under a blanket would save him from the monsters under his bed and in his closet. He shrunk into the glass and tried his best to aim his gun with a shaking hand at Duncan's head. Duncan was now eye-to-eye with the man whom he'd fucking rip to shreds faster than any job he'd done as a hitman in his life.

"Blut...you're not responding?" He sneered, dodging the bullet that flew from his opponent's barrel. He lifted the sword and thrust it from the nape of his neck to the back of his skull, brains flying out against the widow he was in front of. Blood spurt from the open wound like a the lake outside of Duncan's house in Montana, where he'd resided before all this madness. Eyes bulged out of his skull with the optic nerves sliding down the forefront of his face and falling just above his mouth. Duncan dismantled the head from his torso still attached to the blade and spear tossed the sword of Damocles out the window and onto the grounds below, the sharp end getting stuck in the ground and displaying Blut's upside down head like a totem pole.

"'Suck my fucking dick."

Duncan freed you from the chair, taking you outside and down the winding trail, mansion burning to the ground in the distance. Back to Montana where now, at last, he would fucking retire.

[selineram3421]

An Adoptive Father's Day

Alastor and Child Reader Oneshot

Warning? ⚠

⚠ little hint of Reader's living life, alcohol, food mention ⚠

You had snuck construction paper and other supplies into your room for the past few days. Taking what you needed from the party supplies, knowing Charlie wouldn't mind.

Father's day was just a few hours away and you wanted to make a pop-up card for Alastor.

The plan was for you to stay up and make the card while he was asleep. Everything you needed was under the bed.

When the time hit nine, Alastor made sure you brushed your teeth and got ready for bed.

"Good night mon petit.", the deer demon said as he tucked you in.

"Good night.", you replied, hugging Murder Mittens.

He turned off the light on his way out and slid the door to a close.

Waiting for a good while, you heard the door to the hallway close and jumped out of bed, quickly bringing out the box full of supplies out from under it.

You turned on the lamp on the nightstand, setting out the papers and markers, scissors and glitter to the side for later.

"Let's start!", you whispered excitedly.

.

Alastor stared at the glass in his hand.

It was Father's Day. A day he didn't enjoy celebrating in his living life.

Husk hadn't bothered to start a conversation but that was fine. The Radio Demon didn't want to talk at the moment.

For a bit longer that's what he did, just sat on a bar stool and stared down at his drink with a fake smile. It wasn't until the clock struck one in the morning that he finished his drink and stood up.

"I shall be on my way now Husker.", he said and fixed his coat.

All the cat demon did was grumble, picking up the glass from the counter.

With that, Alastor made his way back to the hotel room. Humming a tune while walking, he wondered if his little demon had a parental guardian in their living life.

They'll tell me when they want to. He thinks as he reaches the door of his room.

After opening it and walking in, the demon in red notices light coming from the crack of the sliding door.

Did they wake up? He wonders, closing the door to the hallway and going over to his little demon's sliding door.

Taking a look in the room, he sees them on the rug asleep with many cut up papers scattered around them. Making his way over to the little one, he pics them up and puts them back in bed, noticing the card in their hand once he set them down.

He covers them with a blanket before carefully taking the card out of their hands. He finds red cursive letters on top with a old radio drawn with marker in the middle, it says to and from, his name and theirs half way done.

"Happy Father's Day..", he reads and opens the card up.

"I never liked celebrating Father's Day. But now I have you and I think I can enjoy it. Let's have fun and do something we like. Or you could have fun on your own. Either way, have a good time.

Love, -."

There's little drawn out figures popping out of the card and its the two of them holding hands, they even managed to add in his cane and shadow.

Setting the card down in his lap, he looks at the sleeping child.

Yes, we'll have fun today. Perhaps make some cake for dessert. The Radio Demon thinks with a real smile and puts the stuffed cat back in their arms.

"Sweet dreams little one."

He debates on taking the card but decides to leave it, wondering how they'll present it to him as he turns off the lamp and leaves the room.

I hope everyone had fun today.

~Seline, the person.

Extra!

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @naelys-the-aster @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @scary-noodlesblog @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[yrluvjane]

ƦƠԼԼƖƝƓ ƬӇЄ ƊƖƇЄ ƛƝƊ ƑԼƖƤƤƖƝƓ ƬӇЄ ƤƛƓЄ (Part 1)

13 Years.

13 Years since the day you believed you lost your husband. 13 years since the day your friends died. 13 Years since the day your family was shadowed in darkness and 13 Years since your life crumbled to ash.

If you had told me, 13 years ago, that there was a chance that I could be in my husband's arms once more, I would've kicked you out the bloody window.

But here you wete, sitting on one of the sofa's in 12 Grimmauld Place; a glass of wine in one hand, trying to wrap your mind of what was happening.

You sat in front of the fire place, it was not lit but it was not the fire that attracted your attention. There was a mess of floo powder all over the floor, coating the edges of the fireplace in grey dirt.

You had been staring at the that for the past two or three hours, your stare turning from one of confusion to curiosity, worry, anger, doubt and hope.

It was around 5 days since Dumbledore apparated outside the wards of your house, in hopes to speak with you about an urgent topic. At first you believed something happened to Harry, that he was hurt or attacked but no if only it was about Harry.

No, Dumbledore had wished to inform you he was in contact with your long, lost husband, Sirius. When he said, the teacup that was reaching for your lips fell and shattered on the ground, spilling the hot liquid and staining the carpet.

Dumbledore only flicked his wand twice for the cup to return to its original state and the stain to vanish; continuing as though he spoke of a new recipe he saw in the British Bake Off.

He told you that Sirius was framed by Peter and that he has been hiding all over Europe in the past two years. When Dumbledore mentioned he knew where Sirius was for two years and 'suspected' he was innocent; you had the sudden urge to smash the teapot over your previous Headmaster's head.

And now you sat, staring at dirt and getting yourself drunk; hoping to avoid your husband, who should arrive any moment now. You downed the rest of your glass and leaned over to refill it just as the door opened.

"I'm fine, Molly." You sighed as you watched the red liquid pout out of the bottle.

You are definitely not fine

A voice commented in your head, it's been 13 years! People change, what if he doesn't love me anymore, or doesn't want me around, what if he doesn't want her.

"I'm not Molly." Harry said sheepishly as he fiddled with his fingers. "May I?"

"Sure. Come on in, make yourself comfortable." You invited as you pulled your blanket and draped it over his legs. "Want a sip?" You asked raising your glass once you caught Harry's eyes. "You'll be legal in a few years and merlin knows what type of things you'll be doing this year."

You definitely were not sober.

"Aunt Y/n!" Harry exclaimed as his face reddened the same shade as his house scarf. "Just be safe, cause if you become a father before the age of 24; I will snap your wand."

Harry stared down in embarrassment and cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask if you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay! Why wouldn't I be okay? I'm going to see my husbsnd for the first time in thirteen year, where he was framed for murder." You replied in a defensive tone, motioning with your hands and heavily swallowing your alcoholic drink.

"Why does everyone think I'm not fine?! I am wonderful. Fan-freakin-tastic. I am super!"

You turned to face Harry's concerned and shocked face and realised you must've sound like a crazy person.

You took a deep breath and motioned for Harry to lean in. He rested his head at your lap as you brushed your fingers over his hair.

"I'm okay, Haz."

"It's just...this may be a lot to handle. I mean I remember when I found out the truth about Peter. I just feel like you meeting Sirius again is as scary as me meeting my parents or something. I think it's alright to be nervous." Harry replied as he played with a loose thread on his jacket.

"I am not nervous."

That was also a lie but you weren't ready to spill all your drunken emotions over to a 15 year old boy.

Harry gave you a look as if to say "really?"

"Shouldn't you be somewhere with Ron talking about Quidditch and girls?" You teased as Harry scoffed.

"If I talked girls with Ron, I'll be lonely the rest of my life."

You let a laugh bubble out of you, Harry soon joining in.

"Is Elle coming over later?" Harry asked after a moment of silence, his face flushing slightly. You chuckled. "Tomorrow morning." You assured him, knowing he had a liking to your 14 year old daughter.

"Are you going to tell Sirius?"

That was the million dollar question, she had to tell him, he was her father, she was his daughter. It would be wrong of her not to tell him.

But she couldn't help wonder, if Sirius didn’t want a child. He always wished to end the Black line. And they never really spoke about having one and maybe he would be to occupied with being Harry's Godfather.

He just got out of prison it would be insane to just bombard him with two teenagers.

"I have to tell him at some point. Though, i am compelled to the idea of leaving and letting them meet each other tomorrow on their own." She suggested, half-joking.

"I'm sure Sirius would be glad to have a daughter. 12 Years in Azkaban, I think some family company could do him well."

She couldn't believe it, 12 years in Azkaban; a soul-sucking prison, reserved for the worst of the worst. The word itself made a shiver run down your spine.

The day of Sirius's imprisonment flashed right before your eyes as though it was a recent memory.

"No! He didn't do it!" You had shouted, the Aurors ignored as they trashed your house. "Mrs. Black-" An Auror began approaching you but you pushed him with your might.

"HE DIDN'T DO IT!" You shouted, you magic flaring and shattering all the windows, a spray of glass showered the ground. '"Mrs. Black if you don't compose yourself right this instant, i will have no choice but to detain you!" The head Auror yelled at you.

You eyes were streaming with tears, the rain from the outside storm began pouring into the the house. The thunder strikes defeaned your ears as you stared at the middle-aged man with nothing but fury in your eyes.

"Get out." You gritted through clenched teeth, you hands fisted at either side of you. "I beg your pardon?" He scoffed.

"Get out of my house!" You snapped, you could feel your magic crackle in the air. The vases, tables and chairs began to shake, the flamws in the fireplace raged shockingly.

The rest of the Aurors stood in their place, unsure with what to do. "You have no authority to tell me what to do!" The Head Auror shouted at you, his wand raised to level with your throat.

With the anger inside of you boiling and reaching its limit, you yelled at the top of your lungs; a surge of magic rushing out as it exploded all your vases and glassware. The couches, chairs and tables all flying out of their place and hitting against the wall.

A moment of silence rang as the Aurors battled if whether it was safe to put their sheilds down. "Let's go," The Head Auror said as he gathered his team. "We will be back."

And true to his word, he did come back but at that point you were too numbed by the amount of calming draught, they made you ingest.

You shook your head as though it would push the memory back to the end of your mind. "I hope your right."

And no later than an hour, you were sat at one end of the large dining table while Sirius sat all the way on the other end.

And though there were only eight or nine seats (per side) that separated you, it fel as though half of London was in between you.

Your eyes kept roaming over his body, though he smiled, joked, laughed and played, you could tell he was somewhat exhausted.

That moment when when his smile fell, his shoulders sagged and his head bowed down allowing his eyes to rest on you.

You saw his eye slightly widened as though he was noticing for the first time in ages - which was exactly what was happening right now - he placed his glass of drink on the table and gave you a small smile.

The side of his eyes wrinkled at the gesture and you couldn't help but feel the same dropping feeling you got almost twenty years ago when you first fell in love with him.

Harry, who was sat next to him kept blabbing about something, but for the first time tonight Sirius didn’t look as though he was engrossed into the conversation.

Sirius stared at you, head tilted as his eyes scanned every aspect of your face. He couldn't believe it was you after all this time. Your hair was all disheveled and your makeup was slightly smudged but you still looked as beautiful as they you two got married.

Y/n subtly motions her head to the side and gets up from her seat, elegantly slipping out of the room.

"Excuse me, Harry." Sirius said, clearing his throat as he stared at where Y/n left and made his way out the room.

The halls got quieter the more he walked, he didn't have to check the other rooms to guess where Y/n slipped into.

He immediately turned towards the stairs and walked up to the upstairs library. There was only one thing in the world that Y/n liked more than coffee and that was books.

Muggle, magic, dark or light. Y/n could always be found nursing one. He quietly opened the door to it letting the smell of old tomes engulf him.

Y/n sat on an armchair at the far end of the room, looking through a dark, hard-covered grimore.

"Most of those books are cursed y'know." Sirius commented as he softly let the door shut. He took a sip of his drink and walked towards her as she let out a gentle 'Ah'.

"Most dark books are, though said curses can be avoided if opened correctly..." She said as she brushed her fingers down the spine and muttered quietly, the next the book let out a soft click as the locks on the side freed it.

Though nothing she said was processed in Sirius's head, he was still hungover on the part his wife was infront of him and speaking to him.

She turned and faced him with a small smile, "Won't you sit?"

Sirius walked over and took a seat right infront of her. He noted her flushed cheeks and the trembling hands over her lap.

"I'm sorry." Sirius said truly as he stared at his shoes.

"Sorry?" Y/n began as she stared up at him with furrowed brows, "Sirius you didn't do anything wrong."

"I did, I left you. I broke our vows, my most important promises to you." He said, she tried to cut him off but he shook his head.

"This is all my fault, if i didn't tell James to make Peter the secret keeper last minute, him and Lily could still be alive, Harry wouldn't be an orphan, Remus wouldn't suffer the full moon alone, I wouldn’t have been in Azkaban..." He took a deep, shaky breath. "You wouldn't have been alone for 13 years."

He looked up at Y/n his grey eyes meeting her's. "You don't know that, for all we know James and Lily could've died a week later even if Peter didn't betray them."

"And Remus didn't spend his full moons alone, I was with him." She stood up and sat next to him, placing a comforting hand on his knee.

"And I wasn't alone for 13 years, a part of you was with me every moment of them." She said as Sirius stared at the diamond on her ring finger.

A hesitated hand, placed itself over her as his thumb stroked the ring. "After all this time?" He said as he stared at her, "Always."

He grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss. "Your not afraid of me." He stated more than questioned.

"Why would you think I was afraid of you?"

"You didn't want to talk to me."

"Sirius, I didn't want to talk to you because..." Y/n stopped and gulped as Sirius leaned back with furrowed brows and faced her. "I didn't think, you'd still want me anymore. 13 years is more enough for someone to fall out of love with their partner."

"You really think i could stop loving you? no matter how many years apart i could never stop loving you. I loved you then, I love you now and I will love you after 30 years when we are old and grey. I loved you since the first day we met and will love you till the day I die and till the day we meet again. 13 years are nothing comparing to my love to you."

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

blorbos are how we are coping with current events

so uh. here’s a few nice lighthearted gravity falls headcanons for you all (and yes there is a lot of ford centric ones here. no negativity about him on this post, please. preferably not about anyone else featured here either)

-both stan twins are trans. shermie was the first one they told about this, and he’s been immensely supportive of them. he started referring to them as ‘boys’ whenever he could, especially when filbrick was around (‘you boys ready?’ and stuff like that). even though the twins haven’t seen him in a while, and his relationship with ford is a little strained, they both still feel safe around him

-shermie’s daughter, the mother of the mystery twins, is transmascfem. they’ve always been much closer to her than to their father. it was her idea to get a cat, and she let the niblings pick it out. they collectively named it ‘smoky’

-both mystery twins are trans as well. as soon as he knew, stan made damn sure they were aware of his support for them. mabel told ford she was trans before dipper did, and he made sure they both knew he would support them as well

-the stan twins get a ship cat with polydactyl and name him icarus. he was supposed to work as pest control, but ford babied him too much so now he’s just there for emotional support

-upon figuring out how cellphones work, ford took an immense liking to the camera function. he frequently sends stan and the niblings pictures of anomalies, animals, or just cool stuff he finds

-stan keeps his cool when being insulted, but absolutely cannot stand it when the same happens to his family. type of guy to go ‘ok’ when you tell him he sucks, and then turn around and threaten to murder you when you say the same to ford or the niblings

-gideon is an exception. gideon crossed the line with mabel and now stan can’t help but get irrationally angry every time he sees or hears him

-ford isn’t as good at math as people tend to thinks he is, and he is. so anxious about someone finding that out

-ford has maladaptive daydreaming disorder, and so does mabel

-ford initially bought the painting in the attic of a ship in a storm because it reminded him of stan

-melody and soos got a tabby cat and named it metronome. soos chose the name because it was similar in theme to ‘melody’ and cause he thought it sounded cool. melody calls the cat ‘bloop’ and at this point it probably thinks that’s its actual name

-mabel uses exclusively edible glitter due to all the pets in her life (waddles, smoky, icarus, metronome)

-mabel helps pacifica realize that she’s transmascfemneu. this makes pacifica think about things a lot, and eventually she ends up in a qpr with mabel (featuring candy and grenda as wingmen)

-wendy is bigender and enby

-ford nearly cried the first time stan made pancakes after the portal

-it’s become a running bit to call ford anything but his name and at this point he’s just given up on correcting people and chosen to embrace it

-robbie’s first name is actually robin. his friends started calling him robbie when he came out as trans and the name just stuck. he’s still very attached to ‘robin’ though and has no problem being called that as well

-stan repaired his old winter jacket, though he doesn’t wear it any more. ford sometimes does

-because stan runs hot and ford runs very cold, ford has a tendency to come up to stan and hug him under his coat. stan is fine with this, despite his grumblings about ford just doing it to steal some warmth

-ford experiences cuteness aggression to the max, while stan really doesn’t at all. icarus has experienced both threats of being eaten/crushed and ford screaming into his fluff

-icarus has separation anxiety with ford

-stan doodles on ford a lot. the only rule is nothing on his face and do NOT touch the neck tattoo (destroyed as it may be from weirdmaggedon). yes, stanley, the all-star one. get that smug smile off your face- stop laughing-!

-ford’s sleep schedule has significantly improved since getting icarus. this is mostly because he sometimes falls asleep while waiting for icarus to move off his lap (can’t move til the cat does, y’know how it is)

-stan loves loves LOVES sunny cloudy days. they remind him of running across the beach with his brother, and watching the niblings throw water balloons at each other, and hearing his twin laugh as he tells jokes on the stan o’ war ii

-stan had ford custom engrave his lighter. he thinks it looks cool as shit

-ford has made several smoke bombs for stan. he has no clue what he keeps using them for, but he likes building things, so he doesn’t mind

-mabel has set up three music playlists for the stans. one only for ford, one only for stan, and one that’s visible to both where they can both add music

-mabel introduced ford to breakcore and noisecore. she was very surprised that he liked the two genres

-ford is agender and anattractional

-stan’s favorite smells are cinnamon, bergamot, and saltwater

-stan made sure to always have supplies to make brownies and hot chocolate on the ship in case of them need some mood lifting

-ford has a plaid weighted blanket. the cat laying on top of him every night also helps

-ford made sure stan got a good mattress that would work with his back before they set sail. stan argued with him the entire time, but he has been waking up in less pain since then

-ford always ends up hogging the blankets in any bed. more cover = better in his unconscious mind. stan doesn’t really mind too much, but he would like to keep at least one blanket some time

-ford makes a startlingly good seagull impression

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

heyo bro, it's been a bit since i requested anything, so, first off:

how are you? hope you're doing well ^^

secondly, could i possibly request a drabble about julian and mc getting arrested for something and portia (and/or mazelinka) having to come bail them out?

have a good day, my bro :D

~ @dumbfxck00 no idea if this is the direction you wanted this to go in, friend, but I hope you like it! ~

"She's going to kill us, isn't she."

It's phrased like a question, but the doleful words coming from the lanky redhead shackled next to you in the stone cell sound a lot more like a factual statement. A very depressed, slightly melodramatic, decently self-pitying statement. You draw your knees up with a slight shiver in the damp air as you weigh your options.

"I could always try calling Asra -"

"God, no -"

"You're right."

"At least Pasha could forgive me. She's a good sister, after all," He lets out a long-suffering groan and hangs his head, "and what a failure of an older brother I've been."

"Hey," You scoot in closer with another shiver, mainly in an effort to comfort him but also in the hopes of getting a little more warmth.

Julian lifts his head at your movement. You watch all the confidence and charisma rush back into his bearing as he notices your plight, reaching his not-chained hand up to whip his coat around your shoulders as he scoots closer to you. You end up glued to his side with his legs over yours, face pressed to his chest, as he wraps you up in the heavy black cloth and tucks you in tight.

"Rather chilly in here, isn't it?" He gazes down at you fondly, his warm grey eyes only a few inches from your face. "This is morbidly romantic ... seeking each other's warmth in a prison cell ... brought closer by our love than the shackles that bind us ... despite the crimes I've hardened my heart with ..." His expression falls. "and here you are, an innocent ... suffering alongside me, a murderer ..."

You huff against his shirt. "You're not a murderer, Julian. And your heart is still plenty warm."

He perks up again. "You can feel it, can you?" He leans in closer, his mood lifting once again as he leans in for a kiss. "Can you feel how it beats for you, even chained as the criminal I am now?"

"ILYA I SWEAR TO ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY -"

Julian winces and jumps. You snuggle smugly into the coat as Portia comes storming down the corridor with a concerned looking Nadia behind her. Portia slams her hands against the iron bars, rattling them with a ferocity that, really, you can't blame her for at all.

"WHY ARE YOU IN HERE?! TELL ME TO MY FACE!!"

Your lover cowers, grief-stricken. "Your brother's a murderer, Pasha, I've taken a life -"

Portia turns her gaze on you and you give a deadpan response, ready to leave the cell and not willing to risk her wrath. "He accidentally dropped a kid's new goldfish into a canal when they asked him to hold it, and an eel ate it before he could jump in."

Julian winces, his voice coming out much smaller as Portia turns her unimpressed stare back at him. "I failed them ... I'm supposed to save lives, not lose them -"

Portia groans. "And how did that lead to you and MC in a cell?"

"A mistake!" His melodramatics kick up again, the chain rattling as he springs to his feet. "They're innocent, I swear! Do with me as a murderer deserves, but don't let them suffer on my behalf!"

You snuggle further into the coat and idly wonder if there's any way she'd invite you to dinner at the cottage if you cooperated sweetly enough. "He felt so bad he turned himself in to the nearest guards on a murder confession and asked to be arrested."

Portia's eyes go dull. "And you?"

Now you start to feel a little silly. "And I didn't want him to go alone."

Behind her, the Countess is quietly laughing into her hand. Portia reaches her hand out for the keys to the cell and opens it with a loud squeal before storming in and yanking for the chains attached to the wall.

"I can't believe you two. You're really perfect for each other, you know that? Two idiots competing to see who's smarter and tieing for third place." She reaches a hand out to help you to your feet, ignoring her brother's feeble protest as he's left to follow on his own. You give her and Nadia a grateful smile.

"Thanks for getting us out."

"I knew when I was informed that a certain 'Dr Devorak and company' were arrested that there must have been some mistake," Nadia hums, "I'm grateful to Portia for responding so promptly, or I would have been forced to contact your honorary grandmother."

Julian audibly gulps behind you. You make your best effort at looking penitent, but your stomach betrays you with a loud growl. Portia bursts into snorting giggles and turns away before you can apologize.

"I'm going to get dinner started. It's your choice if you stay behind."

[whumpy-wyrms]

The Last Lab Rat #17: Close Your Eyes

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content: lab whump, captivity, clones, drugging, dehumanization, nonsexual nudity, murder mention, restraints, experimentation, mind control, noncon body modification, eye whump, medical whump, winged test subject whumpee, creepy scientist carewhumper

teehee Dew finally gets ice cream in this one yay

(if you can’t read this because of the eye whump, here’s an eye whumpless summary!)

— 

Anton was up late into the night, getting his test subject’s new clone ready. As Dew slept, Anton had injected him with something that’d make sure he wouldn’t wake up in the night during this ordeal. He didn’t want Dew awake and watch another clone come to life. He didn’t want Dew to watch Anton set another version of him free.

The cloning machine was on the other side of the lab anyway, so Dew would hardly be able to see it from his room. Still, it was a necessary precaution. Dew was already going through so much pain; he didn’t need more stuff to worry about.

Anton was far too familiar with making clones. He’d spent five years of his life alone in his lab with nobody to experiment on besides himself and his clones; he’d grown familiar with the process of making and breaking multiple versions of himself. He’d grown used to not viewing these things as real people, because they weren’t.

The process was always the same. Inject a DNA sample into the machine, and wait a couple of days. The clone would come out with all of the memories of its original, it would… most of the time be an exact copy. Of course, Dew’s clone couldn’t be an exact copy of him now, not with his wings, so Anton had to do some tweaking. Make a clone of the old clone; a copy of a copy. Easy enough. No harm, no foul.

In the early days of making clones of himself, there was a recurring problem Anton had noticed. There were too many times where a new Anton would see himself standing before him, lab coat bloodied and hair disheveled, and know right away what its pathetic life would be used for. There were too many times where the clone would fight back, try to outsmart him and escape.

He needed a way to keep himself safe— from himself— so he implemented something into the machine that sedated when they first came out. It kept them weak and docile, lessened the shock of being a test subject, and kept them unable to fight back. It’d come in handy now, as well.

The machine whirred to life, lights lighting up and beeping. Anton didn’t miss that sound in the slightest. It brought him back to his darkest times, times he honestly wouldn't mind to forget completely, if he hadn’t already.

After a few moments, the clone was ready. Anton swallowed his nerves and walked up to the machine.

“Hello,” Anton said, helping the new Dew step out of the machine.

“Hi,” the clone said, looking up at Anton with wide, curious eyes. It stood in front of him, calm and relaxed. It wasn’t wearing any clothes, but it didn’t care. It just stared ahead. So innocent. So blissfully oblivious to the horrors just under its nose.

“Do you know your name?”

“It’s Dew…” The clone looked around, curious eyes dancing across the strange and unfamiliar laboratory. Though, it didn’t look scared. It turned its gaze back to Anton. “Where am I?”

“Don’t worry your silly little head about that,” Anton said, patting the clone on the head. “Put these on.” The scientist handed the clone some folded up clothes, and stepped away.

It felt wrong, to Anton. This wasn’t the Dew he had grown familiar with the past couple months. It didn’t have top surgery. It didn’t have wings. It was just a lie made to keep his friends at bay. All Anton saw when he looked at this thing was all his hard work gone. This clone wasn’t the real Dew, and for that, he despised it.

Anton shook those thoughts away. Of course this wasn’t the real Dew, that was the point. The real Dew would be safe with him, here. He never needed to think about clones again after this.

After the clone was dressed, it started looking around again, expression noticeably more dazed than before.

“Woah, what’s that thing?” It said, looking closely at a giant cylindrical tube-like vat of green fluid. It was tall, going up all the way to the ceiling, and the glass looked very thick. There was nothing inside of it besides a bright green and glowing fluid that was mesmerizing to look at. And even though the rest of the lab was dark, this lit up the area around them well enough.

“Nothing. Follow me.” Anton grabbed its arm and swiftly led it out of the lab before it could ask any more questions.

“What’s going on?” It asked, catching up to Anton’s pace.

“I’m taking you home.”

“Oh. Who are you?”

“…It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh.” Besides the pair of footsteps, there was a long silence as they walked up the stairs. “This place kinda reminds me of the strongholds in Minecraft… Hey, I’m kinda cold.”

“We’re almost there.”

Anton led Dew’s clone to his car and sat it in the passenger seat, put its seatbelt on, and shut the door. It had stopped talking now, seemingly too tired to ask anymore questions. As Anton drove, he couldn’t help but periodically glance at the dozy, docile thing sitting next to him, looking out the window at the dark forest. It had no idea what was happening. It was almost cute.

“I’m sleepy.” The clone yawned. The repetition of the trees going past the car was almost hypnotic.

“I know. Just relax. It’ll be a long drive.”

“Okay,” It said softly, resting its head against the cold window. “G’night…”

Anton gave a bittersweet smile, and watched its eyes flutter shut as it drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

In around four hours, Anton would be dropping this clone off at its house. He would wipe its memories of the night, and it’d live its life as Dew, its friends none the wiser.

He just had to drive back to Dew’s old house. It was easy.

Anton had tried to ignore the horrible feeling in his gut, his memories of the gory and grotesque scene his lab rat had caused in that room, only a few days ago. He had tried to forget it, tried to focus on the fact that his test subject had escaped, and what had to be done about it. The murder could be easily taken care of; disposed of, cleaned up, and forgotten about. It was in the past. It didn’t matter anymore.

And yet…

Visions of Dew’s bloody and broken corpse flashed through Anton’s mind. The way his favorite little lab rat was lying lifeless on the carpet, blood pooling under the limp and stiff body that was littered with stab wounds, knife only inches away from the scene. The way the light in the poor guy’s eyes was gone. Just like that.

The way Dew was dead.

Dew was dead. Not the real Dew, of course, but that didn’t matter. Anton had seen a Dew’s bloodied corpse laying in front of him, and it sickened him.

He had tried to ignore it. There were more important things to worry about than his feelings— than those horrible feelings of sadness and grief flooding through him at the sight of his test subject, dead on the ground. More important things like the fact Dew had escaped, and needed to be brought back home. The fact he had to punish Dew for disobeying.

But how could he possibly punish someone who was hurting so bad to the point he drank one of Anton’s vials, or shot himself with one of Anton’s inventions? How could he possibly hurt someone worse than they were already hurting? He couldn’t.

Of course, Dew knowing he had been cloned and that there was nothing to do to escape his life as Anton’s test subject was probably punishment enough. It was obvious now he felt completely hopeless; Anton had stolen each and every ounce of hope the man had left by replacing him with a clone and threatening his friends.

So Anton didn’t punish him for escaping. He didn’t punish him for his obvious disobedience and attempts to get out of experiments— too caught up thinking about if Dew had grabbed any other vial, any other invention, it could’ve been so much worse. He didn’t want anything bad to ever happen to him. So he’d been kind, comforting. And it seemed to have worked. Dew was content here, he seemed to finally accept things, which was all he really wanted.

Anton arrived at his test subject’s old address. The clone was still fast asleep, and it took a few light nudges of its shoulders to wake it up. It was alert now, as normal as it could be, acting like the spitting image of Dew. The two of them got out of the car and it questioned him, but Anton was quick to hit it with a quick blast of his memory eraser. He left it by the curb of its house, and drove around the corner out of sight. Memories of that night left its mind, and it stood alone in front of its house. Shrugging its shoulders, it walked inside, out of sight, and Anton began his ride home.

. . .

The scientist had been preparing for an experiment all morning, and Dew had no idea what it was.

Anton had agreed to take a few days off and let Dew rest, giving them both a much needed break and start experiments again once he was ready. Of course, he’d never be ready, but if it was going to happen anyway, it was best to get it over with, and Anton seemed to be itching to start again.

It had to have been almost lunch time by now, and without Sasha to keep him company, Dew spent the morning curled up in his room, drawing and listening to music, blocking out the rest of the world and hoping whatever Anton had planned for him wouldn’t be too agonizing.

Without anything to be hopeful about, that was all he’d been doing lately. That was all he could do, now. Anton didn’t seem keen on letting him outside anymore, and Dew was too petrified to ask.

Dew could’ve spent more time with Anton the past few days. He’d thought about the birthday party he threw him, and their time spent outside together, playing with animals and flying, and when they had watched Dew’s favorite show together upstairs— the last time he had interacted with Anton before he’d ruined everything with his stupid escape.

The truth was, Anton had been fun to be around sometimes, and at this point, Dew wasn’t afraid to admit it. He’d been scared before, when he still held on to the possibility of being free, but now? If he really was stuck here forever, maybe it was in his best interest to use Anton’s friendliness to his advantage. Dew hated the man, but at least he wasn’t cruel. At least he was trying to keep him happy.

If Dew was really going to be a test subject forever, as depressing as that sounded, he should make the most of the rest of his life.

So he sat on his bed, waiting apprehensively for Anton to finish preparing his torment and bring him into the lab. As he doodled in his sketchbook, he heard the scientist’s footsteps coming towards his room. He put his sketchbook down, brought his knees to his chest, and stared at the door.

“Okay Dewey,” Anton walked in, smiling menacingly, yet giddy with excitement. “It’s all prepared. Let’s go.”

Dew slowly stood up, hospital gown already on, and stared incredulously at the scientist as he pulled out a long chain.

“W-what is that?” Dew asked, taking a nervous step back.

Anton sighed. “The past two days you have hurt yourself using the things in my lab. I don’t know if I can fully trust you in there unrestrained anymore. And this experiment has to go perfectly, I don’t want any more delays, okay?”

Of course. Dew had lost all of Anton’s trust, it only made sense for him to be extra restrained in the lab. That didn’t stop his heart from racing, though. “O-okay.”

Anton smiled and clicked the chain around both of Dew’s wrists in front of him, then the two of them headed into the lab. Dew ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach. This was his life now, and he had to be the best test subject he could be so that Anton would be nice to him. He had to be good. He had to.

He hopped up on the operating table, and was told to lay down. Anton placed a pillow behind his back so his wings would be cushioned semi-comfortably. Dew was thankful for that, at least.

As Anton started messing with the restraints on the side of the table, Dew looked up at him with teary eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked meekly.

“You’ll have to be restrained for this one,” Anton explained, tightening the straps around Dew’s legs. “Can’t have you moving around too much. This too tight?”

“N-no.”

Dew weakly protested as Anton tried grabbing his arms. The scientist shot him a look, and he meekly complied, allowing the scientist to spread his arms flat against the table and strap them tightly in the restraints. Dew shuddered as Anton gave the straps an extra tug just to make sure they were secure.

Anton took out his tape recorder and pressed record. “How are you feeling?”

“It’s cold,” Dew whimpered, goosebumps running across his skin.

“Don’t worry.” Anton ruffled his hair. “I’m sure you’ll forget all about the cold after we begin.”

The scientist began rummaging around the tray of tools, and Dew’s nervousness got the better of him. “W-what are you gonna do to me?” he asked.

Anton looked up, a giddy smile creeping across his face. It made Dew’s stomach drop. “Eyes are fascinating, aren’t they?”

“Um, what do you mean?” Dew mumbled.

“Eyes. They’re so fascinating, so complicated and intricate. We rely on our eyes to see the world around us, but… what if there was more? What if there was a way to see beyond the threshold of reality? I want to test something I’ve been working on for a while now, and I think I’ve finally figured out how to do it.”

“You mean— test on my eyes? You’re going to experiment on my eyes?”

“Yes! I won’t tell you the exact details though, I want it to be a surprise.”

As much as Dew wanted to behave as well as possible, he was beginning to panic. “N-no! No, Anton, y-you can’t! They’re my eyes! Please—”

“Remember that one time you asked me to give you night vision?” Anton joked, nonchalantly waving around a long syringe. “Don’t you want this?”

“No!” Dew screamed, but quickly realized that resisting would only make things worse. That’s right, he had to behave. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, and looked back up at Anton. Maybe they could talk this through? “Wait— wait. Can’t you j-just test this out on a clone instead? What if something goes wrong?”

“I would, but that’s why you’re here, silly.” Anton booped his nose. “And nothing will go wrong. I’ll make sure of it.”

“No— c’mon, Anton! I th— I thought we were friends!”

Anton furrowed his brows, looking at Dew with a sad expression. “I need to do this, Dew. You’re my test subject. This is what you’re here for. …How about, after this, I’ll get you some ice cream? How does that sound?”

“B-but— Ah!” Dew yelped and squeezed his eyes shut when he saw Anton’s hand come towards him, only for him gently taking his glasses off. Still, that was not a good sign.

Dew peaked an eye open to see Anton picking up a giant, blurry needle.

“Wait— wait wait wait wait WAIT!” Dew cried, imagining all sorts of horrible things Anton could do to his eyes, and knowing this would probably be the worst thing he’d have to endure so far. He struggled against the restraints fruitlessly, only tiring himself out. “I— I’ll do anything, anything but this! Please!”

Anton sighed. “C’mon Dewey, be a good test subject.” As Dew continued pleading and blabbering as if his life depended on it, the scientist took out a roll of duct tape.

Dew’s eyes went wide. “Wait! Wait wait wait, please! Please n—”

“Stay still.” Dew’s breath hitched as he was rendered completely motionless. A chill ran down his spine as the scientist put a strip of duct tape over his mouth, smoothing it out with his hand. Dew glared at him, and Anton ruffled his hair, smiling. “There you go.”

He was eerily still as Anton prepped the syringe. Dew whimpered into the gag as Anton brought the needle closer, grabbed his arm, and injected a strange fluid into his veins. Dew only hoped it would ease the horrible pain that was sure to come.

“This’ll just make you feel a little groggy. A small sedative, that’s all it is. But I need you awake for this, can you stay awake for me?”

Dew nodded, already feeling drowsy, as tears fell down his cheeks.

“Good. Let’s get started, then.” Anton said, snapping on black rubber gloves.

The scientist picked up a small glass bottle that was filled with a very bright blue liquid. It was neon teal and glowing bright, with small bubbles swirling around inside it. Anton took an eye dropper and filled it with the substance. Then, Dew hazily heard a command to keep his eyes open, and he realized he was unable to close them no matter how much he wanted to.

The scientist was smiling to himself and saying something into the tape recorder, something Dew was too dazed and terrified to make out.

His chest heaved as he watched Anton’s hand slowly approach his eyes. He quickly turned his head away, only causing the scientist to wrench his head back with a rough hand entangled in his hair. Dew wanted nothing but to squeeze his eyes shut, but he couldn’t.

His eyes burned with tears. Everything felt like a hazy dream, far far away and yet so real. A wave of terror flowed through him. Anton held the eyedropper above one of Dew’s eyes and squeezed it, causing a couple of drops of that glowing blue liquid to fall into his eye. 

No no no NO NO NO! Dew couldn’t move. It felt like his eye was on fire. Something was coating his entire eyeball inside and out and he couldn’t get it off of him.

Anton repeated the process with Dew’s other eye.

Anton looked down at his test subject. “Hey, hey, don’t cry, Dew. Stop crying.” His tears dried up immediately after.

Dew could only watch in horror, his vision blurry and pained, as the scientist picked up another object and brought it towards him.

Dew’s vision was fading, and so was his consciousness. He hoped that only implied he would fall asleep soon. Yes, sleep, that sounded nice. Dew tried to relax as the room went dark, as he let Anton do whatever he wanted to do to him. He felt himself drift off, succumbing to the drugs. He barely heard the scientist’s voice anymore. He was so, so tired.

Right as Dew was about to close his eyes, he felt a sudden sharp sting on the bottom of his face. Anton had ripped the duct tape off.

“Wake up, Dewey.” It was the scientist’s voice, shaking him and his mind awake. That’s right. Dew was supposed to stay awake.

Anton loosened the straps enough for Dew to partially sit up, and held a cold flask of liquid to his lips. “Drink this.”

Dew moved his head away groggily. “W-w-why are you doing this?” Dew sobbed. “M-my eyes! What did you do to—”

“Shhh,” Anton said. “You’ll find out soon. Now drink.”

Dew didn’t have a choice but to gulp down whatever strange substance Anton had just given him. It tasted juicy, a strong sour, yet empty and cloudy at the same time. He all so suddenly felt lightheaded and dull, thoughts sizzling out into nothing. His head felt foggy, and he felt far, far away.

Dew didn’t know what happened after that.

. . .

In situations like this, during experiments like these, it was easy for Anton to get carried away, fueled with the excitement of creating something new. It was easy to be blinded by the power he held, and forget all about how his poor test subject felt. Experiments like these were what fueled him, what reminded him of why he still did this in the first place. Testing the limits of the human body, creating things nobody ever thought possible. This was why he loved science.

Not a single ounce of hesitation went through Anton’s mind when he took out a spoon and brought it to his test subject’s face. Right now, Dew was completely out of it. He wouldn’t remember any of this, which was a huge relief. At least he wouldn’t feel what was about to happen.

Anton brought the spoon closer to Dew’s glossy eyes. And…

Whatever was in that glowing blue liquid seemed to have worked, creating a link between the eye and the brain, no optic nerve needed. He was holding his test subject’s left eye in his hands. His eye.

It was easy to assume there was no coming back from this. Dew may as well have just lost an eye. But Anton was sure he’d be able to pop it back in place eventually, that was part of the experiment, after all.

He held the slimey, squishy, disgusting thing in his hands. It stared back at him, brown eye wide and still and petrified. It disgusted him. It made him feel sick to his stomach at the thought of permanently making Dew lose an eye. But the thought of this experiment being a success outweighed any guilt or remorse he felt, replacing it with the exhilarating thrill he’d been searching for. He held the eye between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a slight squeeze, just to see how it felt. If this experiment went right, everything would change.

He talked into the tape recorder as he prepared for the next step. An injection here, a bit of lasering there, he worked quickly and meticulously, lost in his own world. Once he was ready, he popped Dew’s eye back into place, and repeated the steps with the other one. One last injection with another strange substance, and Anton stepped back to take a look at his handy work. If all went well, things would start happening any minute now.

And he was right.

All of a sudden, Dew started writhing against the restraints, screaming at the top of his lungs. The straps keeping him restrained to the table pulled taut, and Anton was glad he decided to make them extra tight this time. Feathers flew everywhere as he flapped his wings in the midst of the struggle. The sound of nails scraping against metal filled Anton’s ears, but that was nothing compared to the screams. Anton hadn’t hurt such visceral, gut-wrenching screams in a long time. It made him feel sick, but he couldn’t stop watching.

All too quickly, something bubbled its way to the surface of Dew’s skin, bursting out of his forehead with a pop. There was minimal blood, to Anton’s surprise and relief, and he was almost sad that it had happened so quickly.

And then, eerie silence. Dew collapsed down against the table, limp and heavy, erratic breathing turning deep and calm.

Anton approached him slowly, heart pounding through his chest. On the center of Dew’s forehead was an eye. Wide and bloodshot, staring directly at him.

. . .

A few hours later, Anton watched his test subject stir awake, unrestrained and laying flat on the table. He was at his side in an instant, ready to provide painkillers or sedatives or even comfort if needed.

“Dew? Are you awake?”

“Y-Yeah,” Dew said, still feeling groggy. He looked around and started to panic. “I… I can’t see anything—”

“There are bandages covering your eyes, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just calm down.’’

“W-what did you do to me?”

“We’ll talk about that later. First, tell me how you feel.”

“I…” The lack of sight caused Dew to panic as he remembered what was happening before he blacked out.

“Dew,” Anton said, putting his hands on Dew’s shoulders. “Calm down. I’m here. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Y-you— my eyes!” Dew cried, twisting out of Anton’s grip. “What did you do to my eyes?!”

Anton swallowed thickly. This was not going well. “I’ll tell you later. Are you in any pain?”

“I-I… kinda? Everything’s still- still weird. Like, numb, almost. What did y-you do to me?”

“Hm, okay. That’s to be expected.”

Dew flinched in surprise as he felt the scientist grab his arm. “H-hey, what—”

“I’m just giving you something to help you relax. Stay still.”

Not being able to see only caused Dew to focus harder on the injection, unable to drown it out. Dew tensed as he felt a needle enter his skin, and choked back a sob when he felt the sting of the contents entering his body. But, like always, it was over as soon as it began.

“There, that wasn’t so bad,” Anton said. “I should check on your eyes. Try to relax, okay?”

Dew nodded, and Anton peeled the bandage off slowly. He sucked in a breath the second light hit eyes, and he batted the scientist’s hand away.

“Too bright!”

Anton winced. “Sorry.”

“Wait—” Dew lifted his hands up to his eyes and peeled the bandage off. He slowly peaked out, and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he could still see. Thank fuck. Anton dimmed the lights, but everything still hurt to look at, so Dew covered his eyes again. “I-I can see fine, but- but it hurts.”

“We might need to keep those bandages on for a few weeks, while they heal, and just while your brain and body gets used to… a new eye. “You can handle that, right?”

Dew’s heart skipped a beat. “A— a what?” He squeaked.

“Another eye, Dewey.” He heard it in his voice that Anton was smiling wide. It made him shudder. “I made you grow another eye. On your forehead.”

“What?”

“That’s not the only thing, don’t worry. There’ll be more changes in the coming weeks, which is why the bandages have to stay on. It’s gonna be great.” Dew flinched as he felt the scientist’s hand gently ruffle his hair.

“O-okay.” Dew nodded, numb to it all. A new eye. He didn’t want to think about it. He was just thankful his vision wasn’t gone completely, a few weeks of darkness wouldn’t be too bad.

“Oh yeah!” Anton exclaimed, putting a cold bowl of something in Dew’s hands. “Ice cream, like I promised.”

“Th-thanks,” Dew said. It was vanilla, not his favorite, but he realized he didn't remember the last time he’d eaten ice cream, so he’d take what he could get.

Once Dew was done eating, Anton gently lifted him up and started walking to his room. He wrapped his arms tightly around Anton’s shoulders as a way to balance himself, disorientated from not being able to see and afraid of being dropped. He felt the scientist gently petting his back, probably trying to be comforting. Dew was carried up the stairs, through the door, and gently set into bed. He put his knees to his chest and reached a hand up to itch at his bandages, but Anton quickly stopped him.

“Don’t touch your bandages.” Anton reminded him, holding his wrist away from his face.

“They’re really itchy,” Dew said. “Do I really have to keep them on?”

“Yes. Your eyes need to heal.” Anton sighed. “I don’t wanna do this but… I don’t know if I can fully trust you either.”

“Do what?”

Dew flinched as he felt something rough and scratchy brush against his wrist that the scientist was holding, wrapping around it tightly. “Hey! What are—” He weakly pulled away, but Anton was stronger.

“Calm down. It’s just so you don’t mess with your eyes while you sleep. I can’t risk this going wrong.”

Dew looked down and allowed Anton to tie both of his wrists together behind his back. “There. That’s not so bad.”

“Easy for you to say…” Dew grumbled, flopping into bed. He curled into a ball, and the scientist tucked him under the covers. He thought he must look so defenseless like this, eyes covered, body restrained, completely unable to see anything coming. He hated being this vulnerable.

Anton petted his head softly, and smiled when Dew leaned into it. Dew wasn’t his clone, but he was still as cute as ever.

“Goodnight, Dewey.”

Dew heard the scientist leave the room and close the door. The click of the lock echoing through his ears. He heard footsteps get farther and farther away from his room, and assumed Anton had already turned the lights off and left the lab. He was alone.

Dew laid there on his bed, unable to move his arms that were restrained behind his back. He was still groggy from the drugs, dozing in and out of consciousness while he tried to focus on anything else but the incessant itching of the bandages and pain in his eyes. But it was dead silent in his room and he wasn’t even able to turn his music on. Unable to see, move, or hear anything, Dew was left to wallow in his own mind until he drifted off into a deep sleep.

. . .

Now that it was late at night, and Anton was by himself, the events of the day had caught up to him. It must’ve been so scary for his test subject, painful as well. Anton had to admit he was a bit blinded by the thrill of the experiment for a moment, and didn’t stop to think about how Dew was feeling. He could tell how much he was hurting, such a distressing and risky experiment would do that, he should’ve been more careful.

Anton felt disgusted with himself. But it’d be okay. Dew would forgive him eventually, and they’d move on, like they always did.

“Hey Anton, are you okay?” Sasha asked. They seemed to always see right through him.

“Yea—” No, he had waited long enough, it was time to tell his friend the truth. “No, I mean… Dew’s back.”

“...What?”

Anton fidgeted with the hem of his sweater. “I brought him back. Your guys' escape plan failed. I’m sorry.”

“Oh…”

“Don’t feel bad. It was inevitable. And there was no way he could live a normal life out there with his wings. I’m just… trying to protect him.”

They were quiet for a moment, then, “Can I see him?”

“He’s asleep right now and… I think it’d be best to leave him alone for now. After the experiment today… he needs time to heal from it. I can’t have anything interfering with the results. Though… maybe after a week or two, some enrichment would be good for him. I know you two are friends, it’s not right to keep you apart.”

“Will he be okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

“Well, that’s good. Tell him I said hi?”

Anton smiled. “I will.”

“G’night, Anton.”

“Goodnight.”

— 

eyes are so strange and wacky am i right

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[star-writes-after-dark]

𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑳 𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳

CONTENT WARNING - PLEASE READ

This fictional piece contains murder, degradation, and non-con themes. Please proceed accordingly.

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: Her voice shook in the quiet of the hallway, and as you looked around more closely you could see even more obvious signs of life. Not currently, it was all old food wrappers and what looked like either black spray paint or scorch marks across the walls, all left from however long ago. You didn’t know how you missed it all earlier, the signs were right there, pointing at how very clearly someone had been living in that abandoned old hospital for at least a year, if not two.

This is how people in horror movies die, you think to yourself as glass screeches against glass beneath your feet. Abandoned warehouses and old buildings were not your usual haunts, and going at night was even less your cup of tea. And yet, somehow, your so-called friends had managed to drag you out in the dead of night, in the middle of winter, to some left-to-rot depot in the more run down parts of Kamino Ward. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Your friends insisted, a group of three other girls who had gone through college with you. “It's not like anyone’s gonna be there to catch us anyway.” 

You exhaled softly through your nose and rubbed at your eyes. “There’s probably going to be animals,” you stress, “and who knows, there could be druggies or those guys who look for metal… you know, people who are most definitely not afraid to kill us?” 

The ringleader of your little group, a bright-eyed girl named Izumi, jostled your shoulder playfully. “You’re such a worrier! No one’s going to be there, and we can just fight them off anyway.” 

You didn’t even want to think about just how absolutely wrong she was, but you couldn’t help it. Four girls, up against god-knows-who, with devil-knows-how-many weapons and much more conviction to stay hidden than any of your friends were to go exploring. They wanted adventure, but only on their terms and every fiber in your body felt like this was the worst possible way to scratch that itch. 

But, at the same time, you would have felt even worse if you didn’t at the very least go with them. So there you were, the four of you bundled up in puffy jackets with flashlights on-hand. You carried extra batteries, just in case. And a Swiss army knife that your dad gifted you for your 19th birthday. And matches and a lighter. And some granola bars, along with a bottle of water. And duct tape.

Okay, so maybe you were a bit overprepared, but you’d rather be over prepped and ready for anything than not ready at all for any emergency situations that might arise. You also shoved a first aid kit packed away in your bag. 

“You going camping?” Izumi had snickered when you were filling up your water bottle. You leveled a glare at her, and tightened the cap before tipping it over to make sure no water could leak out. 

“No,” you sniffed, tucking the offending water bottle into your backpack as your friends pulled on their coats and gloves. “But if you’re thirsty, you can’t ask me for water.” 

Izumi pouted at you, tugging on your arm. “Oh, what? That’s not fair, I was just playing!” 

It was your turn to snicker at her now, and you shrugged her off in favor of slipping on your own warm gear. You chose not to answer her, and Izumi hung her head in resignation and what you hoped was shame. 

Which was how your little group ended up in front of what Izumi was telling you used to be a mental inpatient institute. You shivered, despite your warm jacket and gloves, and watched as your breath fogged up in the air before you. Dread pooled in your gut, an unshakable feeling that you felt the need to voice. “Guys, it’s not too late to turn back now.” 

One of the other girls, Atsuko, rolled her eyes at your scaredy-cat attitude. “You’re seriously so boring. Come on. We’ll all go ahead of you, don’t worry.”

You sighed but muttered a quiet ‘fine,’ and motioned for everyone to move forward in their exploration of the old, crumbling building. Metal and glass crunched and squeaked and made all sorts of horrible noises underfoot, and you gritted your teeth to prevent any unnecessary shrieking as you edged towards the busted-open doors. Your friends, braver or just more stupid than you, were already forging ahead, flashlights on and waving wildly around what the decaying map on one of the walls told you was the main entrance of the hospital. Rubble was everywhere, broken-down walls that had collapsed with time and overgrown plants took over most of the space. You looked down as you picked your way through the mess, and something just wasn’t quite right. There was a feeling in your gut that wouldn’t leave you alone, the hair on your arms pricking beneath your thick layers as you caught up with your friends. 

No one was talking quietly as they passed through the rooms, and it irked you. Beams of light swayed this way and that as you explored deeper into the building. Names of people long dead were rattled off by Izumi every time you entered a new section, doctors and patients alike, and it wasn’t long until you found yourselves in what seemed to be an even older part of the hospital. Rust was dripping down from the ceiling, coating every metal surface in sight, and old beds and gurneys were cluttered in corners while there was clear water damage in others. And there was dust everywhere, a thick layer of it to be exact. It spiraled up and into the air with every step anyone made, and you quickly pulled the collar of your coat up to protect your nose and mouth, eyes squeezed shut. Your footprints were easily spotted in the hallways, and you kept looking behind you as that not-quite-right feeling from earlier doubled in the space between your heart and your stomach. 

“Guys,” you mumbled through the fabric of your collar. “I really think we should get out of here.” 

Your friends groaned at your insistence. “Why did you even come if you were going to be such a spoilsport?” Izumi asked. 

“Haha, cum,” Haru, the last tagalong of your group, mumbled to herself. 

“Because I would have felt like shit if you guys died and I wasn’t there,” you responded snarkily, ignoring her. “Seriously, something feels off about this place.” 

You caught Atsuko rolling her eyes at Izumi and Haru. “You’re just paranoid,” she said, “quit bitching.”

“I’m not bitching,” you muttered, your voice sounding more petulant and whiny than you intended, but you ducked your head and trotted through the dust to keep up with your friends. “I just don’t wanna fuckin’ be here…”

It had been several hours, and you were still plagued by the instinct that something was just wrong about the hospital. You couldn’t tell if it was just the vague sense that you were being watched, or if you were being paranoid like your friends suggested, or if there was really something truly wrong with the space. But your nerves still felt frayed either way, and you had a stress headache building behind your eyes. 

And to make things worse, Izumi suggested splitting up. You and Haru were the only ones who protested this idea, which made Izumi immediately pair the two of you up as her and Atsuko went off to explore on their own. 

“God, this is the worst,” you mumbled, kicking the top part of a cinder block off of its other half. “I don’t want to be here.” 

“Yeah, well I didn’t want to come either,” Haru snipped back at you. 

You stopped in your tracks and turned to look at her, a quiet rage simmering just below the surface of your skin. “Why didn’t you say anything then?” 

Haru shrugged in a too-casual manner that clued you off to the fact that she actually felt guilty. “Didn’t want to be seen as a wuss.”

“Oh so it’s fine for you guys to see me as a wimp, but the rest of you guys get to be the brave ones? Seriously?” 

Haru snapped her head up, glaring at you. “It’s not like that! I just meant I-” 

“Save it,” you snapped, waving a hand at her. You shivered again, the cold had been thoroughly and consistently been seeping through your clothes all these hours, and now that you were standing still it was even more bone-chilling. You shifted your weight from foot to foot to try and keep your circulation going. 

To her credit, Haru looked like she genuinely felt bad for what she said, and you sighed. Neither of you said anything for a few minutes, unmoving in the dark hallway as the tension in the air settled. And then it hit you like fucking a truck, it being exactly why you were so weirded out by the atmosphere. 

“Haru,” you whispered, stepping back through the debris towards your friend. “We have to get out of here. Now.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that. Stop being such a baby.” 

“No,” you repeated, more firmly this time. Haru finally caught on to your tone, and looked at you with a flicker of concern in her eyes as you continued. “We need to leave. There’s someone else here with us.” 

“What do you mean?” She whispered. Her voice shook in the quiet of the hallway, and as you looked around more closely you could see even more obvious signs of life. Not currently, it was all old food wrappers and what looked like either black spray paint or scorch marks across the walls, all left from however long ago. You didn’t know how you missed it all earlier, the signs were right there, pointing at how very clearly someone had been living in that abandoned old hospital for at least a year, if not two. 

You grabbed Haru’s hand and started dragging her back towards the convergence of hospital wings, where you last saw Izumi and Atsuko. “I mean, there was no dust. No needles either, which means someone cleaned them up.” 

She stumbled along behind you, struggling to keep up with you as you darted around and through broken walls and over shattered glass tubes. “Wait- what does that mean?”

You ignored her and pursed your lips, tugging on her wrist harder, as you pulled out your phone to call Izumi. “Pick up, pick up…” 

“Bitch, tell me what’s going on!” Haru cried from behind you as she almost tripped over her own feet. You continued to ignore her as Izumi answered your call. 

“What? ” 

“Don’t ‘what’ me, we need to get out of here,” you snapped, fed up with her attitude. 

Izumi sighed heavily over the phone. You were getting increasingly more annoyed with your little group’s general animosity towards you, you who were trying to keep everyone safe and alive. “Look, we get it, you’re scared. You can go home if you want, but Atsuko and I are staying.” 

“No, ” you growled into the speaker, still gripping Haru’s wrist tightly. “We all need to leave. There’s someone else here with us, and I don’t think they’re going to be very happy if they see a group of girls snooping around their home.”

“And how do you know this? ” 

“Because there was no dust in the front part of this stupid place, and have you guys seen any needles? Because Haru and I haven’t, which is weird for a hospital, which means someone else is in here - living here - and I’m willing to bet it’s some guy hopped up on heroin or something who’s definitely not against killing four defenseless women!” 

Your voice rose with every word, until you were nearly shouting in the echo-y space of the lobby. You reluctantly let go of Haru’s wrist, and she brought it to her chest to rub where your grip had bruised her skin. “Sorry,” you mouthed at her, noticing her wince. You turned away from her, staring at the floor as you continued to argue your point to Izumi. “Look, just meet us back where we split up? Please?” 

“I’d like to point out we’re not defenseless, we have Quirks, but oh my god, fine. Atsuko, we’re going back. ” 

“What? ” You could hear Atsuko whine over the phone. “Why? ”

“Because we have a crybaby of a friend, that’s why. We’ll see you soon, I guess. ” 

You sighed in relief and felt your shoulders slump as Izumi hung up on you. You turned back to Haru, who was still cradling her wrist to her chest and pouting. “Did you have to yank me so hard? You almost ripped my hand clean off.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I said sorry, okay? I really just want to get out of here.” 

You shivered, still cold and rubbed your hands together, blowing on them to try and thaw out your fingertips. The night wasn’t getting any warmer. You heard Haru make a noise next to you, and saw her sweeping motions with the flashlight stop very suddenly. You turn, about to ask her what she just said when you notice the look on her face. 

“Oh, fuck, ” Haru whimpered quietly, her shaky hand focusing the flashlight on the most terrifying man you had ever seen. If you had seen him on the street, you would have thought he was hot. Sharp, angular facial features, studded with piercings and staples that appeared to keep his own burned flesh together with smooth, unmarred skin. Haru’s flashlight made his dark hair look blue, and the shadows that draped around his shoulders only made him look scarier. And his clothes were entirely inappropriate for the mid-November night, a simple pair of pants and a short sleeved jacket were his only protection against the cold. 

“Language, language,” the man rasped, stepping closer to the both of you with practiced ease. His feet fell through the thick layer of dust that was coating everything like he knew where each stone, each fallen piece of wall sat, and like he was used to stepping around it all. “You girls look like you’ve seen a ghost. I’m not gonna hurt you, don’t worry.” 

“Y-you’re not?” Haru asked quietly, the both of you stepping back slowly. You were nowhere near anything that counted as an exit. Haru, who apparently couldn’t read a room to save her life, started rambling. “That’s- that’s great! Could you point us in the direction of the front doors? We were just leaving and got lost.” 

“Got lost, huh?” The man asked. His eyes never strayed from you and Haru, and as he cornered the two of you, they sparkled with malice and joy - joy at your fear. He reveled in the emotions he provoked. “That sucks. Yeah, I’ll show you the way out.” 

Something in your gut told you to duck, to leap away, to fucking move as the man crept closer, because the tone in his voice was not that of someone who was used to being helpful, or in the business of being nice. He was a threat that would follow through, and he knew it. 

You’d be damned if you didn’t listen to your gut feelings. Because in the moment you decided to twist your body and leap to the side, the man steadied his stance, held up a hand, and he completely incinerated Haru with blazing blue flames. She didn’t even scream, the only noise she made was a low moan of pain before her life was ended and reduced to a pile of ash. You landed hard on your forearms and looked up as Haru, who just minutes ago you were debating on whether or not to keep her as a friend, was no more. Gone in a matter of seconds, her life torn away by the strange man who had no problem killing her. And by the look on his face, he saw no issues with killing you, either. 

“What the fuck is going on?” 

Your saving grace. Atsuko and Izumi, who had arrived just in time, were standing in the doorway, and it was clear that they had also watched Haru get burnt to a crisp. 

The man turned around. “Oh, look at that, you brought more idiot friends.” 

“Run!” You shouted at the two girls, who glanced at your form on the ground, confused, before they caught sight of the blue flames reappearing in the man’s outstretched hand. He cackled, eyes electrified with glee as he watched the terror pool in your friend’s faces, and he unleashed another burning hot whoosh of flames in their direction. 

You took his momentary distraction to scramble to your feet and took off yourself, adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river. Panic surged in your chest as you heard Izumi and Atsuko scream, and then the sound stopped abruptly. 

You couldn’t remember the way out of the building. Dark hallways twisted and turned, and you were too busy making a fuss earlier to map anything out in your head. The man’s laughter echoed behind you, reminding you that you were truly, utterly fucked.  

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty girl?” He called out, his tone mocking. You could feel another rush of flames from behind you, warming your back until you were too hot, sweating beneath your jacket. It had missed you by a hair, the smell of burned fabric filling your nose before it was gone in the cold. “Come back, I promise I won’t hurt ya… Too bad.” 

You could barely see as you ran, having dropped your flashlight somewhere behind you and in no hurry to turn around any time soon. The lack of light left you trampling over medical equipment, through messy rooms full of rusted wheelchairs and- 

You yelped loudly as your leg caught on a piece of corroded metal, a table or chair leg. It didn’t matter to you as pain ripped through your shin, and you floundered, barely quick enough to catch yourself. Heart racing, you forced your legs to move faster, searching for any sign of a way out, a flicker of moonlight or a breeze of cold air. Anything. You could hear the man drawing even closer as you panted, the sound of his footsteps deliberate and unhurried despite how eager he was to keep up with you.  

“Come on, don’t run from me,” he taunted, the pale light of his Quirk - because it had to be his Quirk - illuminating the hallway around you. “You won’t get very far.”

Desperation clawed at your throat, raw and ragged in time with your heavy breathing. You had to find somewhere to hide, or at least a way to put some distance between you and him. He wasn’t even trying to keep up with you, you could tell by the sound of heavy footfalls not too far behind you. There were several times when he had a clear shot at incinerating you, but he didn’t. You couldn’t tell if it was because he just enjoyed the chase so much, or if… Well, actually you didn’t know why else he wouldn’t take every opportunity to kill you. And you weren’t in the position to stop and think. 

You were running as fast as you possibly could, kicking up dust and all sorts of hospital debris as you went, up until you came to a T shaped convergence of the halls. You could hear the man coming up behind you, and at the most inappropriate of times, a piece of advice from your driving lesson days popped into your head. Don’t go left to go right. Or in this specific case, do the exact opposite and feign going left, then at the last second veer right, and hope he gets a little thrown off your trail. You only had one chance - one try to get this right. You took it, because you’d die damned if you didn’t.  

Chest heaving with effort, you darted to the left, and then jerked back at the last second to turn down the other hallway, sprinting for your life. You heard a thud from behind you, followed by a snarl. “You little bitch! ” 

Had you turned around, you  would have seen the scarred man smack almost face-first into the wall, using his hands to stop his skidding slide before he actually made contact. But you didn’t, because that would be stupid, and, again, you’d die damned if you were actually that stupid. Some final girl bullshit that you couldn’t really remember. 

You could see a door ahead of you, a rusted metal thing with a blessed window in it, your only source of light. Well. 

The pyromaniac behind you was also a source of light, but he was nowhere near blessed and you wouldn’t want to stay with him if he was your savior. This was an entirely unnecessary and distracting train of thought, you realized as you neared the door, dust flying up around you. The moonlight pooled in through the door’s window, and was eaten up by your shadow quickly as you nearly slammed into the door, jiggling the handle and-

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! It was rusted and sticking, and it took several harsh jerks before it squealed loudly, sending you tumbling into the open air with the murderer hot on your heels. 

“Come on, don’t run from me,” he spat his words at you from earlier, terrifyingly close. “Name’s Dabi - there now we know each other. Don’t you wanna get to know me better, sweetheart?”

“No!” You shrieked over your shoulder, edging away from him and closer towards the edge of the woods. He had stopped just outside the hospital, hands in his pockets, and you turned to look at him now that he wasn’t actively chasing you. The fucker didn’t even look winded, compared to your heavy breathing and shaky legs. Were you that out of shape? And what kind of a bitch ass name was Dabi? You weren’t eager to find out. “Just- just get away from me, please! I won’t tell anyone you’re here, I swear!” 

“You won’t?” Dabi crooned with a sickeningly sweet falseness rooted deep in his voice. He put a hand over his heart, pretending to swoon. “How kind.” 

You gulped for air, shivering now that you weren’t hauling ass and were exposed to the wind. 

“You cold baby? I can warm you right up.”

You shook your head and took another step back. “Please- just let me go. Please.” 

Dabi hummed thoughtfully and rocked his weight from side to side, rubbing at his chin like he was actually considering letting you go. You felt hope creep up your esophagus, curling around your heart and tugging it up your throat eagerly. 

Until it all went plummeting to your stomach, your knees going weak when he casually said, “you’re too cute to let go.” 

A sob wrangled itself into the back of your mouth, and you suddenly felt too hot, too uncomfortable in your own skin as tears pricked the backs of your eyes. You shook your head helplessly and turned to start running again, but your energy was sapped. Sweat was drying along the curve of your spine, breathing was difficult with how shaky your lungs were, and really all you could manage was staggering along through the trees. A loud sigh came from behind you, from Dabi, and he didn’t even have to raise his voice for you to hear him ask, almost bored, “this again?” 

Fucker. 

You didn’t make it very far. Actually, all circumstances considered, you did get pretty far away from the hospital, repeating the mantra of ‘one foot in front of the other’ over and over again until you had picked up a considerable pace and your breath was coming in short but even bursts. Your legs still burned, specifically your calves and your shin where the piece of corroded metal had torn your flesh open earlier. 

You had only made it to the clearing because Dabi let you. He made that very clear. You could see and hear the tell-tale flickering of blue flames crackling on his palm behind you, almost like it was a ball he was tossing up and down. Casually. 

And when he reached you, because he did, his hand was hot through the layers of your clothes as he pushed you from behind. You fell to your knees easily, and a wave of desperation washed through you, resigned to your fate. You felt hopeless as you stayed there, on your hands and knees in the middle of some bumfuck nowhere forest with a murderer who was probably, most definitely going to rape you. Tears dripped down your face, leaving cold tracks on your cheeks as another biting breeze swung through the clearing. Dabi laughed from behind you, dark and threatening and hungry.  

“You look good on your knees,” he cooed, stepping closer to you. Heat radiated off of him, and it took every ounce of willpower to not shiver as your legs grew warmer. “You gave me a real good chase, I can appreciate that.” 

You heaved a sob, and the ground thumped beneath your frozen fingers as Dabi also dropped to his knees, and draped himself over your body. God he was warm. And apparently turned on, going by how his dick seemed to strain against the zipper of his jeans. 

Had you been in any other situation, maybe one where you met in a cute coffee shop and he gave you his number and didn’t murder your friends, you two could be cuddled up together in your bed, his large hands splayed across your stomach and maybe your thighs. 

But you weren’t in another situation. You weren’t in another universe where things went well for you, you were right here, right now, with your friend’s killer curled around you and rutting his hard on against your ass. 

“S-stop… please,” you begged, trying to shove him off of you. You didn’t have the strength, because despite being so tall and lanky, Dabi actually had a good amount of muscle on him - he had to, with the way he was holding an arm around your midsection like he was made of steel. 

“Nah,” he rasped against your ear. Dabi chuckled at your weak struggling, and bit at the shell of your ear in retribution. In what you assumed was an apology, he licked a long, wet stripe up the same spot to soothe it. “You’re mine, gorgeous.” 

He leaned back, barely, to yank at the waistband of your pants and he pulled them down swiftly to your knees. “Oho, what’s this?” 

Dabi had revealed your underwear, a pretty pink pair covered in a strawberry print, with green ribbon sewn through the band. They were your favorite, but after this, you were going to burn them. Dabi’s blue flames flashed in your head, and you thought maybe burning them would be too close to home. Straight in the trash then. Dabi was still talking from above you, the hand that wasn’t holding you up by your torso trailing along the edge of the fabric. His fingers were hot, just like the rest of him, and they sent tingles down your spine as he snapped the edge of your panties. To your dismay, you felt your body betray you as those tingles turned to zings of pleasure that ran straight to your core. 

“These are fuckin’ cute, you little slut,” he remarked, snapping the crotch against your pussy. “Were you expecting someone to see them?” 

You sniffled and shook your head pathetically, fear and humiliation and the cold preventing you from putting up any more of a fight. Dabi noticed, because of course he did, and you couldn’t catch a break. 

“Hey, where’s all that spunk from earlier?” He asked, rocking  his hips forward, making you yelp and jerk before he yanked you back against him. “Don’t tell me you’re givin’ up.” 

You could only whimper, your brain conflicted by so many things. It was cold, so, so, freezingly cold, and Dabi was radiating warmth like it was his job, but he had caused so much damage in one night and was about to cause more. “Please… just- just let me go.” 

Dabi heaved a sigh, sounding very much like you were becoming a nuisance to him, and moved away from you. “Fine, maybe this will help.” 

And then he set fire to your underwear, scorching you and leaving you exposed to the elements all at once. You squealed. “Hey!” 

“Shut up, you whiny bitch,” he mumbled, shoving you flat on your face before he hiked your exposed rear end up into the air and went to fucking town on you. Sloppy and wet and messy and all sorts of fucked up, Dabi’s tongue was licking through your labia like he wanted to taste every inch of you. 

Dabi grunted as he shoved his tongue inside your dripping cunt, lapping up your wetness greedily as he buried his face between your thighs. The tangy scent of your arousal filled his nostrils, making his cock throb even harder in his pants, and he could feel your body trembling beneath him. You couldn’t help any of the soft moans that spewed out of the corners of your mouth. You really, really couldn’t help it, his tongue felt so good and he was acting like your pussy was the feast to his appetite. 

“Mmmph, fuck, y’taste good,” he growled, the words muffled by your slick folds. His scars and staples scraped deliciously against your inner thighs, and you felt your legs twitch involuntarily. 

Being eaten out by a murderer shouldn’t feel this good. 

But his fingers were digging into the soft flesh of your butt, hungry and needy and he lifted his head to suck down some air before he was buried right back against your gummy insides. He licked and sucked at your puffy clit with the tip of his tongue, relishing in each desperate whimper that escaped your lips as your juices gushed down his chin.

Dabi's mind raced with all of the depraved thoughts he could physically have as he ravaged you. Images of branding your perfect tits as he groped them, your thighs, your ass, fuck even your pretty little pussy, marking your skin with his flames, filled his head and made him dizzy with need. He wanted to ruin you, claim you, make you his in every fucking way possible.

You were a whining, writhing mess against the forest floor, hands scrabbling at moss and stones and tree roots as pleasure sparked and built up inside you. You could feel your walls fluttering around his tongue, trying desperately to listen to everything in your head screaming at you that this was wrong, that you could not cum right now. Fuck. 

“Dabi, Dabi-” you whined, fingertips scrabbling at the dirt. “Please- I’m-” 

“Gonna cum already?” Dabi mused, lifting his head to take a break from tonguing at your sensitive bud. “You really are just a pathetic slut, aren't you?” 

You shook your head no, unable to form a coherent sentence let alone thoughts. He growled then, the vibration sending more electric-hot jolts of arousal through your veins. Dabi pulled his body away from you, and you heard him lick his lips. Slurping was probably the more accurate word, if you thought about it hard enough. You were not thinking about it hard enough, or at all really. The only thing you were doing was whining at the loss of his tongue, of his body heat.  

“Yeah, you are,” Dabi argued right back, spreading you with two long fingers before shoving them inside your cunt with a wet, schlick sound. “So fuckin’ desperate for me.”

You moaned and squirmed, at the sudden intrusion. The feeling of his digits, hot and so deep inside of you was overwhelming. You opened your mouth to beg again, beg for mercy or reprieve, but Dabi’s thumb pressed against your clit harshly and suddenly the only noise you could make was a loud squeal. 

“That's it, scream for me,” Dabi purred, his rock-salt rasp of a voice sending shivers down your spine. He spread his fingers inside you, curling them deliciously against your spongy walls. It was torture, all too good and too much and not enough at once.”You're just another toy for me to play with.”

All too quickly, your orgasm washed through you without a warning. You had felt it building earlier, and you had managed to shove it away for the sake of your pride but now? Now you were breathless as Dabi pumped his fingers in and out of you, watching your pussy flutter and spasm around the digits with glee. 

“I’m that good, huh?” He cooed, but it was patronizing and made your wobbly insides feel even weaker. He gave your clit another swipe with his thumb before taking his hand away entirely. You were left on the ground, ass-up-face-down, panting heavily as your vision came back to you slowly. You let your eyes flutter shut, the exhaustion of the night weighing heavily on you. That was, until Dabi’s hand came down on your outer thigh in the least gentle way conceivable. 

“You didn’t think I was done, did you, pretty girl?” 

You groaned, ready to give up and let yourself go numb to the experience, but Dabi wouldn’t let you. You heard him fumbling with his belt and the zipper of his pants, huffing quietly in the, at this point, early morning air. He was still rock hard, despite having gone neglected this entire time, aching and leaking into his boxers. Dabi let out his own quiet groan as he palmed himself through the thin fabric, and the sight of you screaming as he split you open was almost too much to bear. He watched your gaping hole clench around the cold air again, like your body was begging for his cock. 

He had to have you, and he had to have you at that very moment. Without another moment’s hesitation, Dabi flipped you over easily, settling himself between your legs like it was his home. You yelped and tried to wriggle free, but another firm smack on your backside stopped you just as soon as you had started. It was a quick, rushed action to pull his boxers down to his knees, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach before he lined the tip up with your entrance. 

You sputtered at the sight of his dick. Because who on God’s Green Earth decided that any man should have a dick that was good looking, but also that intimidating, and why was it attached to a murderer, and why was it pierced of all things? It twitched under your gaze, flushed red and angry that it had gone so long without attention until Dabi wrapped his hand around the base. 

“Like what you see, huh?” 

Opening your mouth to form a retort, you found that it was impossible due to Dabi sticking his fingers, the ones that had been curling so deliciously inside you a few minutes ago, into your mouth. At the same time, he pressed his hips forward, bullying his length inside you without any complaints from your pussy. 

“Oh fuck- ” he nearly whined, throwing his head back at the feeling of your tight heat, slick and easy to rut into, around him. “You feel s’good ‘round my cock. You like this don’t you, baby? Can feel your pussy tryna suck me in, like a bitch in heat.”

He was rambling, dirty words spilling from his mouth as you very half-heartedly tried to push him away. After all this time, you still couldn’t mentally get around the fact that he was raping you. The term felt wrong, because truth be told you were enjoying the experience, probably a little too much for a supposed ‘victim’, but it was true. You were being split open on Dabi’s enticing cock, and despite what your body was saying, that it felt good, to just let it happen and maybe he’d let you go, your head knew better. 

Dabi only laughed at the way you struggled, tightening his grip on your waist to leave bruises almost immediately. “Stop fighting me,” he growled, his hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper inside you. “You know you want this, your pussy can’t lie to me.” 

He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust, relishing the way your inner walls clenched around him. Your protests were getting weaker, and falling on deaf ears as your movements became less frantic. 

“That's it, just relax - take it,” he muttered, hands sliding up and down your sides in a way that you could have called comforting, in another universe. “Good girl.” 

You whimpered at the praise, because fuck it was starting to feel good. He was starting to feel good, rocking his dick into your tight, wet heat almost robotically slow. The burning pain had faded away, leaving only a faint pleasure in your veins that was steadily growing stronger. You felt his hands glide down over your hips, to the backs of your knees where he hiked your legs up close to your chest. It created a whole new angle for him to grind into you from, and you keened in response. 

“Look at you, so eager for me,” Dabi purred, his voice low and filthy. “I barely have to move and you're already clenching down on my cock like you need it to survive.”

He leaned down, nipping at your neck hard enough to leave marks. His tongue laved over the stinging skin, soothing the hurt even as his hips started moving faster. “I wonder,” he mused, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, “will you still be this desperate for me when I’m done with you? When I’ve fucked you raw and left you dripping with my cum?”

You whined and shook your head, blinking back tears that sprang up out of nowhere, and pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes. You couldn’t speak, not with the way Dabi seemed like he was on a personal mission to fuck the air out of your lungs. It was succeeding. 

Dabi grinned wickedly as he watched you struggle to hold back tears, your face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. “Aww, don't cry, baby,” he cooed mockingly, continuing his relentless pace. “We're just getting started.”

He could feel your walls fluttering around him, squeezing his cock like a vice as he slammed into you over and over. The wet sounds of your coupling filled the air, obscene and filthy, making you cringe internally at how loud it all was. 

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he groaned, his hips jerking forward with renewed vigor. “I bet you've never been fucked like this before, have you? Never had someone pound this pretty little cunt until you can’t even think straight.”

Dabi reached down, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. He crashed his lips against yours in a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue as he consumed you.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he growled against your mouth, panting. “By the time I'm done, the only name you’ll remember is mine. The only thing you’ll crave is my cock splitting you open.” 

He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit. The movement sent sparks of white hot pleasure shooting up your spine, too much and not enough all at once.

Dabi groaned, his voice rough with desire as the tip of his cock bruised your cervix. “Your pussy was just made for my cock.”

He could feel you clenching around him, fluttering and squeezing as he pounded into you, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer, pleasure building at the base of his spine.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he growled, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips with a searing heat. “Paint your insides with my cum until you're dripping with it.”

His thrusts became erratic, his rhythm faltering as he chased his release. He could feel you tensing beneath him, your moans growing higher and more desperate.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a low, authoritative rumble. “Show me how much you love being fucked by me.”

With a final, brutal push, Dabi buried himself to the hilt inside of you. His cock twitched and throbbed as he emptied himself into you, wave after wave of hot cum flooding your cunt. And you responded in kind, keening as you writhe on the moss and dirt of the forest floor. 

As the aftershocks of your shared climax subsided, Dabi pulled out of you with a wet pop. He watched with a smug grin as his cum leaked out of your abused hole, trickling down your thighs and pooling on the ground beneath them.

"Look at the mess you made," he purred, reaching down to scoop some of the pearly liquid onto his fingers. "So sloppy and dirty, just like a good little cumslut should be."

You winced at his words, feeling something like rage flicker inside your chest.

He brought his fingers to your lips, smearing the sticky fluid across them. "Clean them," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. "Taste what I gave you, what you earned."

“No,” you grumbled, pushing his hand away. You looked up to see Dabi sneering down at you, eyebrows furrowed darkly at your defiance. “I’m not your fucking toy to play with.” 

Dabi laughed. “Did you hit your head? I could kill you right now.” 

“But you haven’t,” you snap, sitting up with another wince. Cold was seeping back into your bones, now that you weren’t sweating, and you yanked your pants back up over your ass. Despite everything that had happened, you were pumped full of adrenaline now, a violent fury building in your veins. “So fuck you. ” 

Dabi smirked at you condescendingly, but he wasn’t stopping you. He was most likely also tired, you thought, and probably wasn’t expecting you to put up any more of a fight. “I already did, sweetheart. And now you’re never getting away.” 

Whatever had been snowballing inside you snapped. With a jagged scream, you threw yourself at Dabi, the murderer, the rapist, the pyromaniac who had killed your friends and had chased you into the surrounding forest to get his dick wet, sending him sprawled on his back with a thud and an unexpected rush of air leaving his lungs. It had been so unexpected that Dabi didn’t even get the chance to fire up his quirk, and he still didn’t have a chance when you started choking him. 

“F-Fuck,” he sputtered, but that was all he could get out. 

“You - fucking - bastard -” you snarled, shaking him with each furious word that left your lips. “Think you’re going to get away with this?” 

Dabi’s eyes were rolling back into his head, and his face was turning a pre-dawn shade of lilac. His hands came up and clawed at your wrists, sparking blue with his flames, but you weren’t getting burnt. You didn’t even feel the warmth of the fire, watching in morbid delight as Dabi was struggling more and more to breathe beneath you. 

“P-please,” he croaked. 

It gave you pause, his pleading, and you relinquished your tight grip on his airway. Not all the way, mind you, there was no way in hell you were letting this fucker go, but you sat back enough that he was able to suck in a short breath of air. 

“You’re begging?” You asked incredulously. “You’re begging me? That’s rich, asshole.” 

“I’m sorry,” Dabi rasped. His voice was much more hoarse than it had been a few seconds ago. Regret flashed in his sparkling blue eyes, and your shoulders fell. You couldn’t kill him. Was that even what you had been trying to do? Kill him? In cold blood, just like he had done to your friends? You couldn’t do that. You couldn’t- 

Dabi laughed in your face. Malicious, dark, and 100% not apologetic in the slightest. 

Yes you could.  

You screamed and went back to choking the man beneath you, enjoying the struggle he put up. Now his flames really were burning you, but you didn’t care even as smoke seeped up from his neck and into your face. You’d live with his burns for the rest of your life if it meant you could cause maybe as much damage to him as he did to you. Dabi grunted, and with one strong shove, managed to push you away from him as he coughed and gulped down as much oxygen as possible. 

Your shoulders heaved as you stumbled up and away from Dabi. He was laughing now, even as his eyes watered and he wheezed in the crisp morning air. You were still angry. Still violently, unashamedly angry. Your insides felt sticky and gross, and you could feel bile rising in your throat as the true reality of everything was starting to crash down on you. No, your mind screamed, push it away. You’re not done yet.  

You shook yourself off, and grabbed Dabi by the back of the throat. He yelped in surprise, wriggling to try and get free from your grasp but your fingernails dug tightly into his flesh and clothes, making every effort useless. 

You slammed his face into the bark of the closest tree with every ounce of pain and anguish roiling beneath your skin. Blood gushed from his nose, and you swallowed back another wave of bile. Dabi opened his mouth to say something again. His teeth were stained red, his gums also bleeding. 

“You still alive, fucker?” You asked, leaning in close to his ear. You noticed now that he had his ears pierced. 

Dabi nodded, like he was satisfied with himself, and gave a low chuckle. “Yeah I’m still kicking, bitch.” 

“Good.” You paused, dragging out the moment before you continued, “because I want the last thing you’ll ever hear is me telling you that tomorrow, when the news rolls out, it’s not going to be your name in the headlines. It’s going to be mine.”

All Rights Reserved - Do Not Copy To Any Site

Read Here On AO3

[hotpinkstars]

hello hello! for the reqs, how about helping kafka get ready for one of those fancier missions? just some sweet intimacy (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

FANCY! - kafka x reader

- helping kafka get ready for a more fancy mission.

- I LOVE TJIS GN. i'm so crazy about kafka i need her to have a rerun rn!!!!! anywayssss this request is so fluffy i love it sm. thank u anon, and enjoy!!

- slight mentions of murder and theft, besides that pure fluff. wc 970

It was, once again, time for Kafka to leave off for a mission.

You’ve gotten used to this schedule, but you got to keep her a little later today. She didn’t have to be at the banquet hall until 9:00 at night, giving you two the whole day. When the clock hit around 8:00, she hurried into your shared room to put on her dress of choice. 

It was a plum colored dress, very similar to her hair. Instead of the updo her hair was usually in, she decided to leave it down, but she wanted help styling it while she did her makeup.

“Dearest, would you come here?” She called, your footsteps taking you from the other room into the bedroom.

“Yeah? What's up?” You asked, tossing your phone onto the plush bed before standing behind her. “That dress is gorgeous. Suits you well.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I just need help styling my hair for tonight. I don’t know if it should be flat-ironed or curled.”

You hummed, going into the bathroom to grab some supplies. You grabbed both the curling iron and the flat iron, taking some heat protectant so her luscious hair doesn’t fry. 

“How does flat ironing sound? I think it’ll look nice with the dress style. Pair it with some gold eyeshadow and gold jewelry, too,” you stated, running your hands through her hair, applying heat protectant.

She nodded, applying a light coat of foundation while keeping her eye on the time. “Straightening it sounds fine. I barely do it, anyways.”

So you got to work, taking fine care of each strand and going over them a couple times to make the look perfect. She was applying makeup, occasionally chatting with you about little things, or joking about her look. 

You were going over her hair a second time, making sure that all ends and pieces were not missed. 

“So, what's this mission even about anyways? Or is it top-secret?” You smiled, lightly prying. “I won’t tell a soul about it, I swear on my whole life.”

She giggled, looking at you through the mirror. “Jail worthy, as usual. But I won’t get caught. It’s to steal a jewel that Elio needs and wrote in the script. I know exactly how to be successful.”

You nodded. “As long as you don’t kill too many people… but anyways, who’s going with you this time? This seems too nice to have Silver Wolf assist you. Is it solo, or is Blade going with you?”

“Just Bladie. He’s going to be there for a distraction, anyways. I’ll throw him in the middle so everyone will pay attention to him,” she joked, pulling a laugh from you. “But, in all seriousness, he’s necessary to complete the job.”

You were still paying attention to her hair, careful not to leave any strand under the heat for too long. 

“Which gold would look better? The one from this pallet, or this one?” She held out two pallets, one with a more glittery gold, and one that’s a lighter, more toned down version that doesn’t have all of the sparkles. You took another look at her dress before picking which one would look the nicest. 

She nodded, applying the shade of choice. You liked times like this- times where you both could be with each other without conflict waiting to arise, times where she’s not trying to keep away from bounty hunters, and times where there's no tension or anxiety coursing through her veins. This was a moment of peace, where you could both drop your worries and relax for even just a few minutes (in this case, a system hour). 

“Finished! How do you like your hair?” You stepped back, shutting the flat iron off and unplugging it from the side of the wall. She ran her hands through the strands, nodding in approval before smiling at herself through the mirror. 

“It looks nice. It goes well with the dress style. Good call.”

You smiled, happy that she likes the look. You put everything back, allowing her to finish up her makeup. 

When you re-entered the room, you pulled out a couple pairs of high heels for her to pick from. There were varieties of colors- white, nude, silver, gold, black, you name it. She stood up, looking over the selection.

“If you’re going to wear gold jewelry, and you have gold eye makeup on, wear the gold pair of heels. Trust me, it will balance out everything just perfectly!” You advised. You sounded so passionate, leaving a gentle smile painted on the stellaron hunters face. She picked the heels up and put them on, spinning around in the mirror to make sure they fit nicely and feel good to walk in. 

You took some jewelry out of the jewelry box, presenting her with a couple of nice gold necklaces and rings, topped off with a pair of pretty earrings that match the same theme. She chose one of the necklaces and two rings, sliding the rings on and having you put the necklace on. She put the earrings on before toying with her hair, throwing it over her shoulders to hang off her head, spilling onto her back. 

“You’re beautiful, Kafka,” you mumbled, in slight awe of how gorgeous she looked right now. She giggled. “Thank you, dear. I wish you could come with, but it’s too dangerous. I wouldn’t want to risk you being kidnapped, hurt, or killed.”

You nodded, sitting down on the bed. The time hit 8:45, and she walked over to you.

“I better head out now, but I should be back by tomorrow morning,” She said, smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Kafka,” you replied, giving her a long kiss on the lips before escorting her out the door.

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • VII

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 4.4k

General Fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares

Authors note: Chapter Seven - I wish I wasn't lost (EDITED 09-03-24)

new? start from chapter one here

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

+

I moaned as she slid down one more time and I gripped her hair, holding her still. I filled her tongue as threads of my release coated the back of her throat. The sight below me left my legs shaking as I pulled away, tucking her hair behind her ears, and rubbing my fingers underneath her chin in endearment.

What have I done?

“Good girls swallow,” I whispered and she moaned.

“Open,” I said, watching in complete reverence as she stuck out her tongue, showing me that she obeyed, drinking in all of me.

I leaned down towards her, pulling her chin up to kiss me as I melted into her lips, sighing with commitment.

What have I done?

+++++

NOAH

I wonder how How can it be that two souls live beneath my chest? I wander on Through the snowfall And the firestorm

One week passed.

I had resorted to stealing from a few homes, but the objects I took were worth nothing compared to the cost of Y/N's drugs. After selling everything, I only made 4.5k, barely enough to maintain my daily goal of 645; and I was desperately trying to come up with another scheme to earn more cash. With my stolen money in hand, I went to one of D's associates, feeling a surge of anger at the smug grin on his face as he greedily snatched the envelope from my grasp.

‘Having fun Sebastian? Surprised you even made this much yourself.’It took everything in me to walk away without bashing his fucking face in.

As each day passed I was being eaten alive by guilt, and I could barely look at Y/N. She noticed the shift in my behaviour, persistently asking me what was wrong and if she had done something.

‘Nothing,’ I would say.

‘Just stressed,’ I would say.

Our final night together was the night I stole her medication. As she held me in her arms, drifting off into a peaceful slumber, I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes. Instead, I quietly cried while she slept, unaware of the lies that lay next to her.

The next morning, I lied and said I would sleep in the spare bedroom across the hall. The expression on her face was heart-wrenching.

‘Oh, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I know that the nightmares are hard to deal with.’ She had said, her eyes falling briefly before she attempted to hide her expression with a smile.

My heart yearned at her words, wanting to hold her against my chest, ready to block out all the evil in the world if it meant protecting her. It wasn’t the nightmares that pushed me away, it was myself.

‘I don’t want to invade your space more than I already am.’ I responded.

I watched her take her pills when she did, my chest clenching in shame with every sip of water that followed the lies.

I wish I wasn't afraid of The haunted valley

The boys watched the remorse control me as I began to shut off the world, secluding myself from Y/N, and them.

I wish I wasn't a failure That nobody needs

“Noah?”

In the depths of my mind, I'm lost and confined A question gnaws at my core; I can't deny

“Noah.” Am I a mere illusion, a ghost in the crowd? Or do I carry a soul screaming out loud?

“Noah!”

I pulled out my earbuds at the call of my name, and my eyes squinted open. Ruffilo stood over me as I lay on the mattress in the basement, drowning in lyrics. The music blared from the removed bud as Nicholas glared, folding his arms.

I wish the voices in my head stopped their shrill tongues Just for a second so I could breathe some fresh air For a moment so I could stop sinking into despair I am a traitor in the face of myself

“Did you want to work on the song?” He asked, “Or are you wallowing in self-pity?”

A slave to a maggot that eats away my soul I ask the mountains to consume me as a whole How long will I be captured in this maze in the hail?

The song.

Y/N had hooked us up with a gig at Sammy’s tomorrow night, and Jolly had the brilliant idea of finishing our first-ever set with an original song; despite us never even playing for an audience. I wasn’t sure if I was more nervous about playing some shitty music in front of an audience of strangers, or that one of the audience members would be Y/N.

I shrugged and closed my eyes, sinking into the softness of the pillow with the bud still in my ear. Nicholas shook his head at me. He leaned over, tugging on one earbud to make me listen to him.

"Come on, you can't mope forever," he said with a sigh.

"I can try," I retorted, pulling the bud back from him as I sat up.

"You've been ignoring her for days. Can't you see how much it's hurting her? You messed up, not her." Nicholas' words hit me like a slap in the face.

I turned away from his piercing gaze, but I couldn't help but notice Jolly and Folio pretending to work while eavesdropping on our conversation.

"She's been bringing your regular coffee every day after work because you haven't even been showing up," Nicholas continued, his tone sharp.

I felt guilty as I chewed on the inside of my cheek, unable to meet anyone's eyes. She has?

I rolled my head back “I know. None of it is fair to her.”

Nicholas perched on a chair by the wall, observing me with caution in his eyes. "You need to stop taking your guilt out on her," he said.

I let out a deep breath and got up from the bed, tossing my earbuds onto the sheets. "I can't even look at her without feeling like she sees through me," I admitted.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Nicholas asked.

I scoffed and threw my hands up in frustration. "Yes it is, because I took her pills and had to watch her swallow fake ones," I ranted as I paced around the room. "Pills that are supposed to help her, but are nothing but deceit!"

Nicholas kept his gaze on me, his brow furrowed. Folio's face also showed disappointment as he watched from the side.

"She takes those pills expecting relief, but I took that away from her!" I stopped walking for a moment, pressing my palms against my eyes and exhaling loudly in turmoil.

"You made a choice," Nicholas stood up and approached me, standing in front of me.

He looked into my eyes with a mix of anger and sadness. "I hate seeing you like this, Noah, but you messed up."

"I know I messed up, Nick," I replied, my chest rising and falling rapidly. Nicholas wrapped his arms around me, offering comfort.

"You need to tell her," he advised, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I collapsed into his hug, holding onto my brother tightly. "I can't...not yet," I whispered.

“So you plan on ignoring her for weeks until everything with D is over?” Nicholas shook his head, “We’re living with her now. You can’t just avoid her and you shouldn’t after everything she’s done for us.”

I stepped back from him and nodded in agreement, “I know; that’s why I’ve been considering...”

“Considering what?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow.

“A pharmacy robbery.”

“By yourself?” He chuckled, watching me carefully. “Are you serious?”

I heard Jolly laughing in the corner and gave him a sharp look.

“Of course I'm serious,” I shrugged. “But I could make a ton of money from this Vincent guy by getting pure drugs.”

“The last time you pulled off a big solo heist was when we got into this mess in the first place. You don't take on big jobs alone.”

The lights flickered around the room as I sat on the motel bed, my chest heaving with excitement. A seventeen-year-old Ruffilo sat beside me with the tattoo machine ready to brand my knuckles as twelve-year-old Folio watched eagerly.

“Today’s the day,” Jolly cheered, a wide smile stretching across his face as he threw a beer in my direction, “Our young padawan becomes a man.”

The can fumbled between my fingers as I looked down at it proudly, jittering with thrill. Jolly’s never let me drink before.

I opened the can in acceptance, hesitant to take the first sip with shaky hands, before bringing it up to my mouth. The beer was pungent and bitter, my lips puckering with furrowed brows; yeah, it was disgusting.

I tried to hide my distaste with a weak smile, “Yum.”

Jolly laughed, throwing his head back in amusement.

“You might want to chug it,” He said, taking a sip of his own beverage, “the knuckles hurt like a bitch.”

My eyes danced between him and the can as Nicholas and Nick began chanting, “Noah, Noah, Noah!”

Jolly joined with a raised fist, smiling with admiration as I chugged the drink, throwing the can to the floor in excitement as I stomped on it, the scream of elation ripping through my lungs as we all laughed. Nicholas hollered as he grabbed my shoulders, shaking me and I grinned, living within this moment of adventure.

“You ready?” Nicholas said, raising a quizzical brow as I began to feel the buzz. I nodded eagerly, throwing my hands in front of the table placed next to the bed.

Nicholas slid plastic gloves over his own tatted fingers before he wiped my knuckles with an alcohol wipe.

“There’s no going back,” He smiled as I sucked in a breath, anticipating the familiar scratching of the needle as it embedded the letters into my skin.

“Happy fourteenth birthday, baby bro,” Jolly walked over to me, patting my back. He handed me a crumbled paper bag, and with my free hand, I reached inside excitedly, pulling out the fabric.

I bit my lip as I tried to hide my smile but couldn’t. I was finally one of them.

“Your first mask.” Jolly nodded in approval. I tried pulling it over my head but couldn’t with one hand, so Jolly reached over, pulling it down over my face.

He bent down in front of me, his hand on top of my head as he shook me with fondness and it took everything in me not to cry with happiness at his praise.

That evening Nicholas wrapped my knuckles with black tape, protecting the freshly wounded skin. He went over the plan with Jolly, pointing towards the map indicating where I was to go, and where I would meet them after.

“This garage is filled with fancy as fuck cars,” Jolly nodded, leaning over the table, “so you have options. Don’t settle for any car, but don’t linger too long.”

“Remember, Kia’s and Hyundai’s are easier to hotwire, so you’ll have better luck getting in and out,” Nicholas said and I nodded as I jumped up and down, amping myself up.

“The alarms will go off almost immediately once you break in. People in this hotel get that shit valet, so someone is bound to notice right away.”

“Don’t forget, one, Underneath the steering wheel column find the wiring harness connector, Two, Pull aside the battery, ignition, and starter wire bundle, Three, Strip about 1 inch of the battery wires and twist them together. Fourth, Connect the ignition on/off wire to the battery wire.” Jolly listed and I nodded with each of his commands, reciting them back, “And don’t forget to break the steering lock or you won’t be able to drive.”

“Wire bundle, trip and twist, ignition to the battery,” I repeated, “Steering lock.”

+

“Well, I have no choice,” I threw my arms up, laughing, “What, you want me to ask Y/N then?”

Ask Y/N…

“No but-” Jolly started, but I interrupted him. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. She could be a diversion. A distraction in the plan.

“Y/N could be an extra body, and perhaps…” I trailed off, my mind wandering in thought. Yes, this was crazy; and the idea that followed even more so…but perhaps it could work.

“Okay,” Nicholas said as anger started bubbling from his tone as he watched me with disbelief, “And?”

“And,” I grabbed his shoulder as a smile wound up on my lips, “I can steal Y/N’s prescription while I’m there, and then replace her meds. So, she’ll never know.”

Nicholas rolled his head back in annoyance, almost laughing at my words, “Dude, you’re just going to dig yourself a hole here. You can’t be serious. Just tell her the truth about the fucking pills rather than getting her more involved.”

“I will eventually,” I sighed, “Just not now.”

“You do know how hard it is to steal from businesses alone versus a few houses here and there?” Jolly said as he scribbled in his notebook, “What is Y/N going to be able to do? Other than putting her and you in danger?”

“I have a plan,” I said, as I started pacing around the room.

“You’re considering her help? Are you fucking insane?” Jolly’s mouth hung open, “Du är en riktig klydderöv.” (You are an ass who likes to make things harder than they are)

“Listen,” I held my hands up in defence, but Nicholas threw his arms up.

“You can’t be serious; she could get hurt! You’re just using her?” he seethed.

“And you guys aren’t?” I laughed, pointing to the guitars and motioned around the room, “We are fucking freeloaders.”

“Aren't you worried about her getting injured?Caught? Better yet, Arrested?” Nick asked through clenched teeth. Why did he care so much?

“Of course I fucking am!” I growled, trying to not let any more guilt eat away at my insides, “I just want to have her as an extra body for that bit of fear factor. I don’t want her doing anything upfront or dangerous.”

“That’s still dangerous!” Nicholas exclaimed, “The fact she will be in that situation in the first place is not a good idea.”

I nodded in agreement, “I know. But what other choice do I have right now?” My eyes danced past each of the boys.

I knew this wasn’t the best idea, but my options were slim. I wanted to continue whatever was going on with Y/N- I didn’t want to feel this guilt, and if I was being honest with myself…

I was scared.

I was scared she wouldn’t see past my deceit, and I was scared she would hate me. That she wouldn’t forgive me.

I knew I had to make up for everything that had happened, but the first step was getting her proper medication back.

And to do that, I needed her help.

I wonder how How can it be that two souls live beneath my chest? I wander on Through the snowfall And the firestorm

“Let’s work on the song,” Folio changed the subject as the room heated, and I sighed heavily.

“Yeah, whatever,” I sat back on the mattress, pulling up the lyrics I wrote on my phone.

“Whatcha got Noah?” Jolly asked as he picked up the guitar.

“You've run out of luck, and I'm calling your bluff You stabbed me in the back, but not deep enough But not deep enough I see through you.” I hummed.

Jolly nodded as he tried to match the chords.

“Then the chorus, yada yada,” I said, eyes scanning my device as my thumb scrolled the screen.

“You said I'd never make it, you said I'd fall on my face But now I'm right where I belong, and I put you in your place You said I'd never make it, you said I'd make a mistake But now I'm right where I belong, and you've got nothing to say.”

Jolly eyed me briefly with a slight glare as I spoke, and I avoided his eyes.

“I like it,” Nicholas said, plucking the bass.

+++++

Y/N

With my fingers wrapped around the paper coffee cup, I sighed, fiddling with my keys to open the front door to my house.

Noah’s sudden distance made my chest clench in worry.

“look at me, show me those pretty eyes while I fuck your mouth,” he demanded and my lashes flicked up toward him, his body shuddering as I stared into him with complete greed.

The last time we spoke was that night.I chalked it up to him being busy paying back D, but I couldn’t help but feel slightly broken, and that it was my fault for his distance.

Doubt ate at my insides, beginning to regret inviting them into my home.

I wish I wasn't afraid of The haunted valley I wish I wasn't a failure

Maybe Noah saw how unwell I was, after the nightmare. Maybe this whole situation made him uncomfortable. I made him uncomfortable.

That nobody needs That nobody needs That nobody needs

I'm sure he heard me wake up screaming at night, and it hurt me to know that he wasn't the one who came running in to check on me. But that's okay, not that he had to. However, Nicholas was always there in a heartbeat. Living with the boys was easy, and I enjoyed spending game nights with Nick, Jolly, and Nicholas. Surprisingly, we got along well and I developed a close bond with Nicholas over the past few days. He must have noticed my internal struggle because he would often reassure me when I came home between shifts, rushing down to the basement with a cup of coffee to see Noah, only to be disappointed when he wasn't there.

“Hey,” Nicholas had waved, his gaze falling when he saw the coffee in my hands.

“Not home?” I asked, giving him a sad smile.

“No… I don’t know where he is either.”

I shared a curt nod before turning around to run back up the stairs.

“Y/N?” Nicholas called out before I took the first step up.

I stopped, sucking in a breath before sighing, “Did- did I do something wrong?” I asked, turning to look at him briefly.

Nicholas shook his head quickly, “No! No, of course not. You’ve done nothing but be kind to us.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m the problem? Did I scare him away?”

Nicholas’ shoulders dropped as he patted the seat on the couch next to him, pulling me into his side. I rested my head on his shoulder as he rubbed my arm warmly.

“Noah is a difficult creature,” He said, “But I haven’t seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

I sniffed, “Then why is he ignoring me?”

Nicholas stiffened at the question, and I tried to shrug it off, but I knew that he knew.

“I- he’s going through it. This is a lot of money for him to get himself, without any help.”

I pulled away from his hug, “I just wish he would let me help.”

I closed the door behind me, smiling down at Juice as he greeted me. I heard someone puttering in the kitchen and assumed it was Nicholas.

“Hey, Ruffilo-” I shouted, slipping off my shoes and prancing into the kitchen. I immediately gasped in surprise when it was not Ruffilo, but Noah, who sat at the table munching on a grilled cheese. Our eyes locked as we silently exchanged words, and my breath hitched in my throat. Why did I feel so nervous?

My face flushed with embarrassment as I stood frozen in place, staring at him for a moment too long before bowing my head in anxiety. My heart raced, and I couldn't help but want to stare at his perfect smile or the way his long hair framed his face.

"Hey," he said gently, his eyes burning into me as I placed my bag on the counter and took a deep breath. I tried to distract myself by placing his coffee on the counter and grabbing a cup from the cupboard to fill with water.

"How are you?" he asked, still gazing at me intensely. I hesitated before turning around, my back pressed against the counter as I let my eyes meet his. I couldn't help wondering why he suddenly wanted to talk to me after days of distance. Part of me wanted to walk away.

"Um," I took a slow sip of water, the cool liquid offering little relief from the tension between us, "I'm good. And you?"

He watched as I took another sip, his eyes scanning over the glass and my fingers wrapped around it. He hesitated before speaking again, as if afraid of what he was about to say.

"I'm okay," he began, trailing off before looking away, fixating on the ground as he spoke softly, "I've missed you."

My heart raced as he revealed his feelings, and I couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. Part of me wanted to brush off his words, while the other part wanted to wrap my arms around him and give in to his touch. Did he truly miss me, or was he just trying to ease his guilt for being absent for the past few days? Regardless, the way my breath caught in nervous anticipation showed how thrilled I was to see him.

"I got your coffee..." I murmured, not sure what else to say as I turned and handed him the cup. Our fingers grazed each other lightly as we exchanged the drink, sending tingles up my arm and butterflies fluttering in my stomach - reminiscent of the day we first met.

He gave me a small smile and thanked me shyly, but I could sense that something else was on his mind as he took a sip.

For a brief moment, silence hung between us as unspoken thoughts danced in the air.

“I’ve missed you too,” I confessed quietly as my cheeks warmed, and I began playing with my fingers nervously.

Noah’s ears flushed with colour as he genuinely smiled, “Let me take you out tonight.”

“I- I have work,” I stammered, excitement replaced with disappointment.

“Call in. Let me take you on a date.” He shook his head as he took another sip, refusing to let down.

“I can’t afford to call in,” I gave him a sad smile, “But I would love to go out with you this weekend when I’m free?”

“I’ll give you the money then,” He stood up now, grabbing the glass from my hands before pulling my palms into his grasp, “Just let me treat you.”

His October eyes begged as they bore into me, trying to read my mind. I looked away, trying not to succumb to his silent plea but instead, I smiled, looking at our connected hands. Why was he suddenly being this way?

“Stop looking at me like that,” I laughed.

“Like what?” He teased, before sticking out his bottom lip, packing on the puppy dog eyes.  

“Like that!” I giggled, and Noah tugged on my arms, pulling them so they were wrapped around his body as he buried me in his chest.

I sunk into his arms in alleviation as we swayed in the kitchen to the beat of our hearts.

Part of me wanted to pull away, tempted to see if he would bring me back. The other part of me wanted to berate him for his attitude. Part of me wanted him to take me against the kitchen table. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t want to ruin this moment together.

“I’m sorry I’ve been distant,” Noah whispered now, his voice vibrating from his chest as my cheek was pressed against his soft cotton t-shirt. I nodded against him in response, squeezing his torso as I closed my eyes, my mind beginning to overthink everything that’s happened between us.

I finally sucked in a breath, hesitant to ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

Noah immediately pulled me from his chest to look me in the eyes with a sullen expression, his hands cupping either side of my face, “You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re perfect.”

My eyes began to glaze over as my mind eased a little, and I chuckled softly, “Definitely not perfect.”

“Definitely are,” He whispered, hesitating once more before his broken eyes began analyzing my own. He made me feel like I had no reason to think he was lying. He made me feel perfect.

Noah watched me carefully before his eyes closed briefly. He sucked in a breath, hesitating, “I- I think there’s something wrong with me. I’m so lost right now.”

“I hope you know you can talk to me,” I matched his tone, my head tilting in empathy as we stood in the kitchen, holding each other. My fingers gripped onto the fabric of his shirt as I pulled him into another hug, embracing all his insecurities.

“I know,” He sighed, before masking his sorrows with a smile.

“Please come out with me,” He pulled away and pleaded again, the pad of his thumb beginning to graze across my cheekbone before tracing the outline of my lips, “I want to spend time with you. I want to hear your story.”

I smiled at his words, my breath catching in my throat as we watched each other, completely mesmerized as my eyes travelled across the outline of his ochre eyes. The slight stubble outlined his perfect lips that wrapped around the whites of his teeth as he smiled charmingly, and it left my palms sweating.

“You know plenty about me now,” He said gently, concentrated eyes devouring me, “So who are you?”

Subconsciously I began leaning in closer to his touch, our lips inches apart, “Why are you so convincing?” I whispered, the warmth of Noah’s breath cascading along my face.

“Ahem.”

I turned immediately at the cough, and Noah pulled away from me, staring back at the ground. I looked between him and Ruffilo, who stood leaning against the wall, watching Noah with analytical eyes.

“Hi, ruffles!” I then smiled warmly, confused at his interruption but happy to see him. He acknowledged me briefly, nodding in my direction before glaring daggers towards the brunette.

“A date?” Nicholas's eyebrows furrowed as he crossed his arms and spoke with a tone of accusation.

Noah gave him a sharp look and I glanced between the two of them, trying to make sense of their tense exchange.

Noah turned away from us, shaking his head. “It's none of your business.”

“It is my business now.” Nicholas stood up, positioning himself next to me in a protective manner.

I furrowed my brow and took a step back from Ruffilo. “Can someone please explain what's going on?”

A cynical smirk appeared on Ruffilo's face as he let out a quick laugh, scoffing at the brunette in front of him. “You didn't ask her where you really wanted to take her out, did you?”

Noah ran a hand over his face. “I was getting there.”

I looked between them again before turning my head towards Noah. “Where were you planning to take me?”

Noah licked his lips thoughtfully before turning to me. “I need your help.”

Chapter 8

Tags:@crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

@princessmarshmallowx @laurpartyprogram @cookiesupplier @nojoyontheburn @lacktoesandtoddlerant

@veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs

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@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

[wardenparker]

You know I need me some Connie forehead kisses, so Detective Tim Rockford and “Wait! Don’t leave.”

I mean, there’s so many options so I’m tossin’ that one up there, but I’m also gonna say “Connie’s Choice”! You hit a massive milestone so you should getta celebrate however you see fit, darlin’.

Detective Tim Rockford and “____” <- You fill in the prompt.

*points to my forehead*

Right here! When you’re ready. No pressure. 😁😘🥰

My darling Dax 🧡 You get ALL the forehead kisses, but unfortunately also a very sad microfic.

Tim Rockford. 2,332 words. "Wait! Please don't leave!" Co-written with @absurdthirst Warnings: Explicit descriptions of crime scene, death, murder, domestic dispute (verbal), angst

The rain beats against the windshield, his knuckles tight against the steering wheel as the headlights slice through the inky black of the night. Tim doesn’t pay attention, he can’t. The blare of the police radio cuts through the silence in the car, his thoughts racing in circles as he drives as if he’s on autopilot.

Sharp winds whip around his car outside, an annoyance of white noise in the background that only makes his blood pressure rise when it shakes his little car. He knows the address he’s driving to. He knows it by heart.

******

“I just wish you would put me first once.” You express as he jams the loose items that are scattered across the dresser into his pockets. Two dollars and thirty-seven cents in change, a pocket knife, a losing scratch off ticket, a receipt from Jimmy’s Hot Dogs, a random mint, the ever present cigarette lighter and his wallet. The badge is tucked into his jacket, along with his car keys, hanging on the coat tree near the front door.

“I got a call.” He huffs, annoyed by the guilt that is settling on his shoulders. “You know the drill.”

“Can you even tell me the last time you ate dinner at home?” The last thing you want is to be cruel to him but you’re trying to make a point. Your husband of seven years and partner of ten has been slipping further and further from your fingers with every passing day and you’re at your wits end with how to get it to stop.

Your name is like a sigh of frustration and he pauses, turning tired eyes on you. He’s tired of the same arguments over and over again. “I’ll be back.” He tells you, turning and walking towards the door.

“Tim, wait!” The anguish that cracks your voice comes with tears — guilty, burning ones that you were trying not to let free. “Please don’t go.”

His resolve cracks and he turns, his hand on the door knob. “Babe, I have to go.” He doesn’t— not really. It’s not his case, but he feels like it’s connected to that fucking mystery that has taken over his life. As soon as he can solve it, he will fix this gully between the two of you. “I’ll be back in a few hours and we can talk, okay?” You don’t answer, but he takes that as your agreement. “I love you.”

“Be safe.” Unable to even bring yourself to say that you love him back — because you do, you absolutely fucking do but right now it feels like he’s just saying the words to placate you — you turn away and slip back into the kitchen. Tim is never home and you work a 9-5, so the chores pile up relentlessly. Maybe you’ll put dishes in the dishwasher and clothes in the dryer and go to bed early.

Walking out the door feels like he is fighting against himself, but the urge to close this case, to finish things off is too great to ignore. He pushes back the sight of your hurt face out of his mind and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. Walking towards his car, he’s not Tim, your husband, he’s changed into Detective Rockford.

******

“Detective Rockford?” The primary on the case is already there, and he wasn’t expecting back up. But the seasoned detective that he knows well is a welcome sight, even if Rockford doesn’t quite look himself.

“Hey Jimmy.” Tim gives a wan smile before looking towards the tape. “What do we got?”

The young detective has worked hard for his place on the force and seen plenty, but this one is a lot even for him. “Female. Forties. Stabbed to death in her own living room. Pretty gruesome stuff, honestly, and you know these things don’t usually get to me.”

Tim swallows, closing his eyes and swaying where he stands. “Do—” he chokes out and his voice falters. “Do we have the guy?” He manages after a moment, trying not to cry right there.

“We have tire tracks, finger prints, and plenty of detritus under the vic’s fingernails. She fought hard.” Jimmy shuffles, not used to seeing his mentor this emotional. “Some of the wounds look defensive. And the weapon was left at the scene.”

His lip trembles and he inhales sharply. “Are you— are you sure it’s the homeowner?” He asks shakily, praying for a miracle.

“ID in her purse matches.” The younger man confirms. “Seems like she had barely gotten home. Might’ve been a robbery gone bad, but we need to take a more thorough look before that call gets made.”

Tim shakes his head, body trembling and he screams out your name, rushing towards the house. “Baby! Baby, come out!” He shouts, ducking under the tape and bolting through the door. “Sweetheart? Baby? Answer me!”

“Detective Rockford!” Jimmy swirls to run after him, not understanding what’s caused such a monumental break in his colleague’s behavior. Obviously he knows the victim, otherwise it makes even less sense.

Tim can’t stop, doesn’t even hear Detective Fallon as he rushes into the house and over to the body that is draped in a white sheet, the thick material slowly being soaked red with blood. Choking as he drops to his knees, he reaches up to draw the sheet back.

“Ma’am, you really can’t be—” Detective Fallon’s voice is part of a sea of white noise, unheard and unnoticed by Tim as he reaches for the corner of the sheet he absolutely shouldn’t be touching. “Ma’am, this is an active crime scene!”

But you don’t hear him, blasting past the young detective to stumble into your own living room, where the figure of your sister is crumpled in the middle of the carpet and covered in a sheet. “Get away from her!” Is all you can think to say, burning tears choking anything but fear and anguish out of existence.

Your voice makes him freeze, head whipping up to see you and his eyes widen. Choking out your name, he then whispers— “Is it— are you?”

“Tim?” He’s the last person you ever expected to see again, let alone in this house, but suddenly you’re actually glad for it. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, but you’re shaking with fear for the reality of who is under that sheet.

You are alive. His eyes dart back to the sheet and he looks back at you with a small frown. “You’re here.” He breathes out, immediately understanding. Since the divorce, you had lived with your sister. He stands and moves over towards you. “Baby.” He knows this will hurt you and he wants to take away the pain if he can.

“Is that…” You don’t have to finish the question. The boot poking out from under the sheet is the pair she borrowed from you, and the blood spattered purse with an evidence tag next to it is so familiar you would know it in your sleep. “She accidentally grabbed my purse when she left for work this morning.” You choke out the explanation but lurch forward when your knees buckle and your heart squeezes up into your throat. “Was it—were they—was it supposed to be me?”

“I don’t know.” You are about to break, he’s witnessed enough families to know. Stepping closer, he strokes your arm and looks into your beautiful, devastated eyes. “I don’t know baby, but I’m going to find them. I’m going to find who did this.” He promises.

******

The fluorescent lights of the station are harsh and the coffee in your hand is burnt, but it's better than being in your house. At this point you doubt you can ever go back there again and you're definitely trying to figure out where you're going to go or what you're going to do once you leave the station.

Tim comes back with a bottle of water for you, offering it to you when he walks up, and exchanges it for the coffee that you aren’t really interested in. “Preliminaries look like it was a mugging/burglary gone wrong.” Tim tells you quietly, aware that he probably shouldn’t say anything about this, period, but this is your sister. And you used to be his wife. “Camera footage from the neighbors show that the suspect approached her when she opened the door.”

"I don't–" Your head bobs in thanks when he takes the coffee from your hands and replaces it with the water bottle, though you still don't do anything but hold it. For your whole life you were always the person to be able to take charge and provide comfort in a crisis. Now that the crisis is your own, you're drawing a blank. "Will they let me go back? For–for clothes and stuff, I mean? I need to find a hotel..."

Tim grimaces. “It’s….still a crime scene.” He tells you reluctantly. “No one goes in right now.” He bites his lip, knowing that the DA would be pissed, but he would log a record of it in the case file. “If you want to make a list, I could get you some things.” He wants to offer to let you stay with him, in the old house you used to share, but that might be too much for you.

"No, I...I don't want you to get in trouble for me." There are strict rules for crime scenes. You were a cop's girlfriend and then wife for long enough to know that. "I can just get some stuff from Target tomorrow. Temporary stuff..."

“I can.” He offers, squatting down to look at you. “Do you have a friend…a boyfriend, where you can stay with them?” He asks, even if the idea makes him sick. He lost you, he has no right to be upset if you’ve moved on. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

"No." For as long as you and Tim were together, he knows you never really had an extensive circle of people close to you. You're an introvert and most of your friends were either his coworkers or the spouses of those coworkers. The friends you made in college have all gone their separate ways by now, and you had had your best friend in your sister. "No it's just Liz and me..." It was just the two of you, anyway.

Tim sighs softly and his brow furrows in concern. “You can— you don’t have to— but, you can stay with me.” He offers, unsure of how you would take his offer. You had told him during the divorce that you couldn’t wait to be done so you would never have to see him again, and circumstance had changed that. He still hasn’t told you he hadn’t had to be at that crime scene. He had just memorized your address and when it came over the radio, his heart had dropped.

"Wouldn't you get in trouble?" That has to be a conflict of interest or something, but the idea of being safe tonight has you shaking all over again when you suddenly jolt at the memory of why you even need safety in the first place.

“No.” Tim shakes his head. “You aren’t a suspect, never were. And the captain knows who you are.” He wants to reach out and wrap his arms around you, keep you safe, but he doesn’t want to overstep. “Or I can get you a hotel. Wherever you want.”

For maybe the first time since you walked into your house to see him standing there, you actually look up a little and meet Tim's eyes. "I don't think I should be alone, either," you admit quietly.

His heart breaks at the loss in your eyes, the sense that you are adrift and unsure of your course. He nods. “Then you don’t have to be alone, sweetheart.”

"There's not...not anyone at home who would be upset?" You have no business being upset if there is – after all you're the one who filed for divorce, not him – but you still stop your hand for reaching for him when it's halfway out.

He doesn’t miss the gesture and reaches out to take your hand. “No.” He promises. “Just a really lazy cat named Twix.” He licks his lips, heart pounding at the touch of your skin against his and he pushes those feelings down. He just means to comfort you. “No one since you left. Your blanket is still on the couch.”

“I—” There's no reason to refuse, and you're a little too shell-shocked at the moment to know whether or not you could actually manage all the logistics of a hotel on your own. Besides – again – the idea of being alone doesn't sit well with you. "Thank you." you manage finally, gripping his hand tightly in gratitude.

“You’re welcomed.” He knows he should get you home, his home, and he squeezes your one last time before letting it go. “Let me go finish up for the night, and we’ll get you settled.”

"Wait." Your hand tightens instinctively, holding him beside you. "Please don't leave?" Even in a room full of bustling people doing their jobs, without Tim beside you, you feel completely alone. And even though you know he has to do his job, you just – you need that comfort for a few minutes more.

It’s the same words that have haunted him for years, the ones you had uttered one desperate night that he had disregarded, signaling the end of your relationship. He regretted that night in the middle of the lonely nights that followed, wishing that he could somehow go back, do things different. He can’t change the past, but he can show you the compassion you need. Shifting to his knees in front of you, Tim looks up at you, his eyes wider than normal as he gives you his promise. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Boundless Ch 1: The Rigid Hunter

summary: he’s looking for her— hunting her.

pairing: witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader

contents: enemies to lovers, mentions of murder/torture, marc is a broken asshole, injury, blood mention

gif credit: @perotovar

wc: 2.4k

an: welcome to the boundless universe! i’ve really enjoyed writing this so far, i love the concept. i’d really love to build it together, so if anyone has any questions, thoughts, headcanons swirling around in your brains please feel free to come talk to me about these two! i hope that y’all like this and i’m excited to hear your feelings on it. 🤍

boundless masterlist | moonknight masterlist

Marc remembers the day he found out the legends were true. Say your prayers, lock your doors, and sprinkle your salt because they’re out there. Witches and wizards walk the streets looking for opportunities to spread pain and suffering. They look like us, and talk like us. But they can’t feel like us, love like us, care like us.

He was 10 years old the first time he witnessed the violence that comes with being in his family . He watched with horror as his parents tied up one of his teachers. She spewed nonsense, objects flew, and fires burned. Each hunter chose their weapons and that day he’d watched his parents use daggers he thought were for show.

He was afraid at first. He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to be violent like her— like his mother. And though eventually he had succumbed to violence, realizing that there was no way to fight it, that it was in his blood, he always vowed that he would be different. Despite his disdain for witches, he has never been ruthless. He has always killed them quickly, painlessly with mercy, never been one to taunt them as they meet their deaths.

Today, almost 20 years later, Marc’s crossbow is slung over his shoulders, one of his hands resting over the dagger on his hip as he slowly makes his way through the forest. He’s hypervigilant and jumpy, eyes roaming the greenery that fades into orange and yellow and red. He’s ready to defend himself at the drop of a hat.

He’s looking for her— hunting her. The full moon is tonight, and witches always flock to their dens, charging their crystals, infusing their spells with the magic of the celestial being. Her den and a handful of others are in these woods, just on the outskirts of a camping resort so as not to draw too much suspicion. Time and time again witches fail with anonymity— he and his family follow the breadcrumbs they leave and pick them off one by one.

He’s looking for her darkness. He’ll know it when he sees it, he’s seen many dens and killed more witches than he can count. They surround themselves with smoke and blood and evil. This one will go down just like all the others, he’s sure. She’ll be just as vile, conniving. Just as eager to beg for her life when he lines the tip of an arrow up with her eyes. Emotionless and self-serving with a heart that bleeds black.

It’s easy to get distracted by the sights around him. He loves autumn, the symbolism of how even as an organism fails and dies, there’s beauty to be found. It gives him the hope that maybe there’s something to be found in him too despite all he’s been through.

There’s something soothing in the sound of leaves crunching beneath the weight of his boots. There’s a waterfall in the distance that feeds into the creek he’s following. Where there’s water, there’s life.

He continues up the stream, noticing the remnants of a paper sailboat coated in wax tangled in some brush on the bank. He bends to pick it up, noticing words sprawled across the side.

Sail under Hecate’s moon.

The words heighten his senses— she’s close, within walking distance of the area. And while that can mean a wide variety of things, Marc is prepared for the worst, to walk miles and miles if he has to. Standing quickly his eyes scan the area, wary of her. There is no one to be found, not an inkling of life in his sights so he carries on.

He nearly makes it to the waterfall when across the creek he hears the rustle of leaves and his heart lurches in his chest. No matter how many times he faces a witch, there’s always the unpredictable— they could have anything up their sleeves. Thousands of spells and enchantments and potions, each one more horrible than the next. His hands slick with sweat reach back, drawing his crossbow to line up with his sight.

Deer.

Two of them make their way to the bank, bending to drink, paying him no mind. His heartbeat slows and shakes his head, letting out a silent sigh of relief as he lowers the bow.

Marc’s eyes return to the waterfall that’s a short distance in front of him. He could simply go around, and walk a short distance so that he could get to the top of it at a steady incline. But that would be too easy for him. He was taught to never take the easy way, that anything that holds weight in this life is a challenge. It must be difficult for it to mean anything in his mother’s eyes. He still doesn’t quite understand why after all this time, her opinions have a hold on him. He bats the thoughts of her away as he eyes the rocks to the left of the waterfall’s mouth.

They are damp sure, but not completely slick and unclimbable. The summit of the waterfall is much higher than it looked far away, but he thinks nothing of it as he steps forward and begins to climb. The hood of his cape falls as he puts one hand above another, exposing his dark curls.

A bush behind him rattles and he glances over his shoulder, eyes going wide as he realizes how vulnerable he is right now. There’s nothing he could do if he were to face her now, this high up is too far of a jump to do it safely. The best course of action is to finish the climb, it’ll grant him a better vantage point to get his bearings and height is always an advantage in combat. But when Marc turns around, looking up to his goal, there’s a crow— the largest crow he’s ever seen in his life, cawing loudly in his face. He’s startled, losing his grip on the rocks, feet slipping as they try to find purchase and he falls, grunting as he hears his flesh and bone tearing and cracking before he goes unconscious.

When Marc wakes sometime later, he hurts all over. There’s a splitting ache in his head, and a pain much sharper and dangerous sitting in his leg. He can handle pain, he’s been trained his whole life, day in and day out to handle much more than a slip in some gnarly wood. He blinks up to the trees, taking shallow breaths. If he can just lay here and gather his strength he should be able to get up.

What would his mother say if she could see him? All the things she said all his life, he imagines. Baseless shouts of this is not his calling, that he was meant to weld or harvest or research. That his attempts at living for Randall are in vain. Like he wasn’t bred for this. Like the mistakes he made has tainted his blood, taking away his right to hunt.

He tries to sit up and pain screams in his side. Had he broken some ribs? He lays back again, trying to get enough air to his brain so he doesn’t pass out again. His attempts are futile and soon, he drifts out again.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear the graceful patter of feet near him. He feels when he is picked up by something as large as it is fluffy. A wolf maybe, taking him back to her cubs for a meal. He wonders if it would be such a bad way to go if it meant he’d never see his mother again.

A little while later his surroundings change. He’s somewhere soft and warm. Everything inside him is on edge. His instincts tell him that he’s unsafe, that he must get up and go, but his body is in no state to do so. He can’t even open his eyes, can’t speak a word, let alone take any steps.

Something—someone guides his head up, tipping a cup to his mouth. “Drink this,” A soft voice says to him gently.

He wants to resist but he’s weak to this person’s will. Whoever it is pours a steady stream of the liquid down his throat. It’s thick, warm, and tastes like black currants, mint and citrus. His body goes a little numb, relaxing further into the bed he’s laid in.

His pain waxes and wanes even as he sleeps. Though he isn't conscious, sometimes can feel the way his body cries and aches. He can feel the heat of healing, feel his muscles and bones scraping against each other as they slowly move back into place. He’s grateful for the braviety, happy to sink into a deeper place of unconsciousness, to run from the discomfort.

Marc wakes gradually. He first wiggles his toes, feeling the numbness in his right leg. He taps his fingers softly, enjoying the fullness of whatever bed he lies in. He tries to stretch his neck but he’s quite stiff and decides to just open his eyes. To do the inevitable and face his reality. When his eyes open, he frowns at the sight of paper boats hanging from the ceiling.

Paper boats, covered in wax, sailing under Hecate’s moon.

Marc knows right away where he is. He’s too warm. He can smell moss. The room glows from the outside in, candles lit but somehow he still feels the darkness. Maybe it is the deep dark reds and purples of her linens and furniture. Maybe it’s the white wolf that sits near the fireplace, eyes as dark as the night sky as it watches him. Or maybe the sense of dread as he takes in his surroundings, as he realizes he’s been made. He tenses, turning his head until his eyes meet hers.

Marc’s mouth drops open, going dry. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen— her soft mouth raised in a smile, her eyes clever. There are no words, just sensations that contradict each other. He feels wonky like his body can’t decide if he wants to stay or go. His brain tells him that he should fight, that he should leave. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as adrenaline builds. But in the pit of his stomach, there is nothing but ease as he looks into her eyes. All of this leaves him utterly confused and then some.

When he continues to stare at her quietly, she says, “You’re awake.”

He’s in the witch’s den and here she is, smiling down at him because she’s got him in her grasp. He’s not sure why she hasn’t killed him yet. He should be more afraid. He should kill her.

Where’s his weapon?

“Don’t. I don’t want to hurt you. Or paralyze you, drug you— maim you. Especially after fixing you up, I’d be destroying all my work,” She muses playfully, looking down into her book.

Marc’s eyes go wide with shock. Is she being funny?

“You know who I am,” He states, ignoring the way his heart starts to beat more quickly.

She nods, looking up from the pages, “The sigil on the crossbow made it pretty obvious.”

“You saved me anyway.”

“The wolves would’ve eaten you alive.”

“That would’ve been better than being taken hostage and killed by a witch.”

“You aren’t taken hostage— I’ve nursed you back to health. If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t waste my energy. I would’ve watched them feast,” She says matter of factly.

“Spoken like a true witch,” Marc scoffs.

She narrows her eyes at him, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know everything about you. My whole life is about you. Your kind,” He corrects.

“News flash Spector, I’m just as human as you are.”

“You might look human but our hearts don’t beat the same. You’re a monster, it’s in your blood.”

His words punch her in the gut. She knows that witch hunters are cruel, she’s been taught that all her life. Spell writing, potion brewing, ingredient harvesting, and the all-important learning to murder witch hunters in any and every fashion. There are many rules to be followed in witchcraft— regardless of one’s craft or coven but the most important of them?

If you see one, there should be one less in the world.

She knows they’re raised to hate her as much as she’s raised to hate them. But the hate never stuck. It was drowned in curiosity, in a yearning for peace and understanding. Because how dare she want to live a life that is fruitful and soft. How dare she see the humanity in them. She blows out a breath, eyes raising to the ceiling as she tries to keep her tears in. Even as her heart aches, it roars, begging to retaliate. Begging to lash out and hurt him. She ignores that urge like she always does, wiping at her eyes.

He sees the way her tears twinkle in the soft candlelight— she truly is beautiful. He quickly bats the thought away again. Beauty can only run so deep in her, she is a witch after all. It stops at the surface, he knows that. But, he feels bad for making her cry. She’s a witch, the bloodsucker of the human race. He shouldn’t care if she lives or dies, let alone if she cries. But before he can think better of it, an apology sits on his tongue. He doesn’t get the chance to say it.

“You’d prefer to be alone,” She sets down her grimoire and stands, reaching for a cloak that’s hung on the wall. “I’ll go to look for matching wood to repair your crossbow, part of it broke during your fall. Don’t try anything stupid, your leg is still setting.”

The white wolf that hasn’t taken its eyes off of him makes growls under its breath and Marc glares.

“Neither of us is going to hurt you. She simply wants you to be kinder to me. How a wolf knows that and you don’t….” She clicks her tongue in scolding, turning to look at the wolf, “Come along, Nimbus.”

He watches them leave, letting out a deep breath when he’s finally alone. He’s still confused. He doesn't understand her.

Kinder to her? She must not understand their dynamic— she must be out of her mind. That much is clear since she’d brought him back to her den to help him instead of killing him. Could he really trust that? A witch so unstable? She could’ve brought him here to nurse him back to health for a challenge, all to kill him again. That makes more sense, that aligns with all of his previous experiences. There must be ulterior motives for why she’s brought him here. He won’t fall into this trap.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged (18+ only)!

boundless taglist: @campingwiththecharmings, @grogusmum, @ninebluehearts, @mdnigts

[baronessvonglitter]

if love be rough with you, be rough with love | chapter 15 | "mutually assured destruction"

Dave York x f!Reader

Word count: 5,707

Summary: A life-changing secret is unearthed, altering the directions of your life and Dave's.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, TW attempt at self-unaliving, angst, secrets revealed, gaslighting, talk of murder and paid assassination, obsessive!Dave, rough sex, hate sex, unprotected piv, revenge, if I missed anything please let me know!

Author's note: this turned into more than I initially thought, and took a lot out of me emotionally but I'm pleased with it and I hope you are too! Please do not read if you're not in a good headspace, there are very triggering scenarios in place for the sake of dramatic storytelling. For those battling real life demons, please click here for help 🫂

Series Masterlist

It's the day before you leave for London. A Friday.

Years from now you'll look back on this day and wonder how it started so normally, as if fate wasn't already hard at work against you.

You make breakfast for the family: pancakes, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs. The new au pair is coming on Monday and you want to do everything in your power to stay on the family's mind so that they'll want you back when you return from studying abroad, but in the back of your mind you know that won't be an issue.

Sneaking a glance at Dave at the table, you exchange a small, secret glance and a smile, but his eyes never leave you once you busy yourself with other tasks. You can feel his gaze on you, checking you out in your casual outfit of the day: jeans that show off your curves and a cropped long sleeve shirt that shows a sliver of midriff. You're going to miss choosing outfits that will keep you on his mind all day.

Later you get the girls bundled up for school, putting on their warm boots and winter coats. Alice has two different colored gloves on, Molly forgot her library book upstairs. Both girls want to wear their new scarves but they're fighting over the same one. You're already prepared, fixing the situations, showing Dave that you're maternal, giving him a glimpse of what your life together would look like.

You've already made plans to see each other over New Year's, see the sights together, make love in a different country. Honestly you don't think you'd be looking forward to London as much if there wasn't the promise of Dave joining you there, even if only for a little bit. You're learning to have your forever with him in a few stolen moments.

After running some last minute errands (Carol insisted that you spend this time on yourself and she could take care of anything extra) you have everything ready. You're packed, suitcases and passport on your bed.

Slipping into his home office, you dangle a thong around your finger, intending to leave it in his desk, a small memory of you, a promise of what's to come.

A drawer that's usually locked is left slightly open, teasing you, taunting you. You bite your lip. You've never been in Dave's office without him, and you recall what he'd told you:

"There are some other parts of my life, things I can't tell you yet. I know you'll understand when the time comes.."

You shake your head. It's just a drawer, you tell yourself. If Dave were here he'd call you a silly girl, then guide you away from his desk and press you to the wall, or the floor, or-

But you can't resist a peek.

And because of that your world changes.

The rest of your day is spent uncovering your lover's secrets, and the worst secret is saved for last.

In the back of the open drawer, tucked safely into a small black pouch: a class ring with your birthstone, and your gold baby bracelet, your name written in perfect cursive.

Dave returns after work, calling out to the house, knowing you're here somewhere because your car's here and Carol's isn't. It's too quiet. She probably has the girls with her.

"Sweetpea, you home?"

There's no answer, so he shrugs and heads to his office. intending on doing some work for awhile before bed. You'll show up eventually, looking for him, legs spread eagerly, mouth open voraciously, wearing some barely-there lingerie, tempting him while his family's out. He knows you by now, but that doesn't stop him from wanting you.

He knows something is wrong as soon as he sees his office door is cracked open. No one goes in there but him. He steps in to see his office has been searched. Papers are strewn on his desk, files scattered, drawers opened. He feels like he might have a heart attack.

There you are, in a chair in the corner of the room, watching him, waiting for him.

"You're a fucking murderer," you mutter in a half-sob, alerting him to your presence.

The moment those words leave your mouth you know it's a mistake. Dave approaches you, slowly and deliberately. You want to run for the door but you're not sure you can even move. Your heart feels like it will stop at any moment, if Dave doesn't stop it with his own hands.

In one swift movement he grabs you, forces you to the wall, his large hands pinning your shoulders. He's in a rage, seething with anger, hurt, and resentment. But he hides it well, towering over you. "What do you think you read, silly girl? You're not even completely sure what you saw," he motions behind him to his littered desk. "Do you want people to think you're crazy?"

The fear in your blood turns to outrage. You ignore his question and offer one of your own. "My father.. my own father?" Your voice wavers as you keep your cold gaze on him as you say your father's name for the first time in years. "Sound familiar? He should be. Five years ago you killed him."

There is the briefest flicker of surprise in Dave's eyes, soon replaced with approval, estimation even. "What makes you say that, sweetpea?" he asks, his voice honey-sweet.

Nausea threatens to make you keel over, but your righteous anger holds you through. "It was all over your fucking paperwork. And these," you say, opening your palm to show your jewelry he'd stolen that fateful night. He looks but makes no move to take them.

"For years the cops had us convinced it was a home invasion gone wrong.. but they were on your payroll, weren't they?"

"Where's your phone? Give it to me," he demands. When you don't oblige right away he grabs it from your back pocket, rifling through the photos section, checking to see what you've deleted, making sure you don't have anything incriminating waiting to be emailed.

So far he's in the clear and he tosses your phone to the chair.

"What are you going to do about it?" Dave asks, his voice low, cold, nearly a growl, and he looks at you as if you're a bug he's squashed under his shoe. "What are you going to do with the information you have? Because you can't tell anyone, do you understand that? Especially not the police. We both know they won't protect you." He soothes the effect of his words with a soft brush of his knuckles across your cheek. "If you try to spread this.. misinformation to anyone else, you'll disappear."

A shiver goes through you and you knock his hand away. "Why?? Why did you take him away from me? I needed him."

It's a new feeling for Dave. He's never had to deal with the fallout of his extracurricular activity.

"I was just doing my job," he answers, the catch-all phrase he never imagined he'd have to use. "But from everything you've told me about him, I rather think you'd be grateful to me, sweetpea."

You ignore this little quip, too angry to think of anything to say in this heated moment, when your brain is still swimming with mixed emotions. "He was just a name on your list? Is that what you're saying?" you ask coldly.

"Yes," he replies sharply. "He was not a person to me, okay? He was a target. He was a job."

His words are harsh, but they're the truth.

"Do you understand that? Do you understand now how I see people? How my world works? It's made up of people I am paid to kill. People who hire me to do the killing. People who betray others. It's not a game and it's certainly not personal." He takes a moment, looks squarely at you, measuring how you're taking this.

"Did you ever have any idea," you start slowly, "when you hired me to be your kids' nanny? Did you ever have any clue that I might have been his daughter? When you kissed me and fondled me and screwed me, did you ever wonder if maybe my last name was a coincidence?"

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty? If so, it's not working very well. I've learned how to separate myself from the job. Compartmentalization. It's the same thing I do when I'm fucking you and not thinking of my wife, or fucking my wife and not thinking of you. Do you understand that?"

Your hand flies across his face, landing a harsh slap, leaving a red mark that even you can feel the sting of.

His first instinct is anger, then there's a sudden flash of a smile across his face, lighting up his features as he soothes his cheek. "I have to admit, with that scrappy little attitude.. you're just like your father. Tenacious."

You're disgusted with yourself. You've given away your innocence to your father's murderer. You'd loved him and sinned with him, risking so much. You even wanted to marry him someday, in a stupid fantasy of yours that now just feels repugnant.

"Did he see you coming?" You whisper. "Or did you sneak up behind him like a coward when you killed him?"

Dave's smile fades. "I let him see me, and at that moment he knew he found his death," he recollects. "It's the most powerful feeling in the world.. watching the light fade in someone's eyes and knowing you're the cause of it. It's a little like playing god. It was no different with your father."

"And this information you have," he continues, "what exactly are you going to do with it? Because I refuse to have to kill you, sweetpea. It would hurt me too much to have to get rid of you for your curiosity. You opened up a Pandora's Box. Now what are you going to do with all the misery you've unleashed?"

You're calm. Your heartbeat is normal. Glancing out the window there's freshly fallen snow. Such a peaceful scene despite the awfulness playing out with you and the man you loved.

"Carol took the girls out to drive around and look at Christmas lights. They might be gone awhile."

You reach into your pocket and pull out a snub nose revolver, one you'd pilfered from Dave's desk earlier. You pull the hammer back and aim it at him. "I'm going to spare them having to hear their father die, a little gift I'm passing forward that you gave me years ago."

There's a flash of fear that flits across his face as you point the gun at him, which he quickly masks with cold indifference as he raises his hands in surrender, backing away slowly. "You had to have some idea.. all those nights waiting up for me, patching me up when I had a bloody lip or bruised knuckles? They're not always quick kills, sweetpea. Sometimes I have to use my fists."

You don't waver, still aiming the gun, the irony not lost on you that he'd been the one to teach you to shoot. The power you have over him right now is indescribable, with the agony of the revelation of Dave's shadow business lurking just beneath.

"You had to know," he repeats. "Yet you still decided to pursue me, to sleep with me, to fall in love with me." He stares you down as you continue to aim. "Now.. do you think you have it in you to kill me? Because revenge, my silly girl, is not really your style."

His words wound you. Yes, deep down you always knew. You just never put your father's death into the equation.

"You're right," you admit. "I'm not a killer like you. But I'm just as bad as you are."

Despair and guilt rack your body. There's no way out. You'd been prepared to shoot Dave, maybe even kill him as revenge for your dad, but in this moment you have a sudden change of heart.

"You don't have to worry about me telling anyone. I'll take it to my grave."

You aim the revolver at yourself, just under your chin, cold metal against soft, warm skin. "I still love you, Dave."

Click.

You open your eyes and fall to your knees, gasping as you drop the gun. It wasn't loaded. A blinding wave of relief and anguish courses through you as you begin to sob, your entire body shaking.

He walks to you, picking up the gun and opening the chamber. Empty. "Do you really think I'm stupid enough to have a loaded gun in my own home, sweetpea? I have children, for Christ's sake." He shakes his head, putting the gun away. "I thought you'd be more clever than that, especially after all I've taught you." He sighs, looking more disappointed than distressed over your attempt. While you're on the ground, hugging your knees to your chest, shivering, he quietly tidies up his desk, putting everything back where it belongs, all his secrets stored away. He locks the drawer with a definitive click.

"You do it," you weep as he kneels next to you, giving you a tissue. "You killed him, now kill me. It would be poetic." You meet his eyes, seeing nothing but coldness in them, knowing that was all there was this whole time. "There's nothing I want in this life anymore."

Dave hugs you, and despite the hatred you feel for him, despite the maelstrom of emotions you find yourself in, you cry on his shoulder as he kisses your hair.

When you've finally cried yourself out, he helps you to your feet. "I'm going to take you for a drive. We need to talk."

In your emotional state you go along with whatever he wants. You're like a zombie, your body functioning but your brain clouded with misery.

You both get in his car, but you don't bother to put your seat belt on.

"Do you trust me?" he asks as you head out on the road.

"That's a funny question," you say in monotone, turning your head to look at him. "I don't know if I do. I shouldn't."

"Here's the thing." He clears his throat, makes himself comfortable for the drive. "I think you do. I know you always have. You shouldn't but you did. You still do. You trusted me enough to be completely vulnerable before me. You trusted me when you slept with me, each and every time. You trusted me when you told me about your awful history with your father. Trust takes guts."

You groan as he speaks about your intimate times together, numerous times, scandalous situations. You'd given your body and your heart.. to a married man.. to your father's killer.

"That trust is gone," you tell him.

Dave sighs, continuing to drive. After almost forty-five minutes he pulls over to the side of the road. You're in the middle of nowhere, far from anyone or anything. He gets out and helps you out of the passenger seat. Taking a tentative look around you see barely lit forest on the roadside, lit by a scattered amount of street lights. The snow has stopped for now, and a chilling wind howls through the desolate night.

Together you walk into the darkness. You fully believe he's brought you here to kill you, to silence you from spilling his secrets. And you feel only the slightest anxiety at this thought.

He leads you up a small path, thick forest on either side of you. Eventually you arrive at the edge of a cliff. The wind roars in your ears.

"What are we doing here?" you shout. It's almost too dark to see him.

He removes his jacket and puts it on you, shivering in your same clothes from this morning, only a denim jacket over them. It's warm from his body heat and smells faintly of his cologne. "Tell me why we're out here," you insist.

Dave looks out over the cliff, seemingly lost in thought. You're not even sure he's heard your demand.

"Did you know your father well, sweetpea?" he finally asks. "Did you spend a lot of time with him?"

It's like a stab to the chest, feeling your dad's loss all over again. "I thought I knew him well enough.. I think he loved me in his own way."

"He was corrupt, sweetpea. He had dealings with men much worse than me, men who would've hurt you and your family if given half the chance. A rival gang paid us to take him out." Dave goes quiet, dipping into that memory, perhaps wishing he could reverse things so you wouldn't be here, in the cold, with him. "I'm not the monster that you think I am. I'm human just like you."

"No, you're not human. Taking lives for money makes you less than that." Tears sting at your eyes, the bitter wind making them cold on your cheeks. You saw how sweet Dave could be with his children, how he gave off the impression of a loving husband even though you knew that particular part wasn't true. He had hidden depths, just like your father. His love for you was conditional, just like your father's.

You need your heart to stay hardened against him.

"I loved my father,” you continue. "I saw bad in him, just as I told you. But that didn't mean I wanted him dead."

"We're all just animals," Dave insists. "And even animals kill each other."

"You're the only animal here, David." You remove his jacket from you, symbolizing how you're done with him, preferring the bitter cold to the warm lies he's trying to give you. He gives a surprised grunt as you shove the jacket against his chest. "I've seen enough and heard enough. I'm walking home."

"You asked if I recognized you the day you came to interview for the position.. truth is, I did."

You turn at his revelation, stopping in your tracks but coming no closer to him.

He continues, "My team and I searched room to room, pilfering a few valuables to make it look like a real break-in. The last bedroom at the end of the hall was cracked open, with a pink light spilling through. When I walked in I could still smell your perfume in the air, something sweet like the kind a girl your age would wear. The clothes you tried on and discarded were strewn on your floral bedspread."

Now he has your attention, now he has you rapt, and as he describes that night you recall your room in that house, the perfume and the bedspread he's mentioned.

"I looked around, took my time, even though I was supposed to be quick," Dave admits. "I looked at the photos you kept by your bedside, removed the silk scarf draped over your lamp - that's a fire hazard, you silly girl." He smirks at you a moment, something akin to mirth in his dark eyes. "I saw the awards on your dresser, the photographs.. a little girl in a ballerina costume, that same girl growing up, attending summer camp, learning archery, and becoming a young woman, attending homecoming dances and learning how to drive.. I saw a piece of your life, sweetpea. And I was entranced."

Your mouth has gone dry. You know every one of those photos, have them collected safely in an album in storage somewhere.

"I didn't know your name, but the moment you came through my door, almost a thousand miles from your home, I was in awe. It had to be fate. You'd come to me, and despite my initial misgivings about having you so close, the possibility of you knowing how we were tied together was so minimal yet held such huge risk. There were times when I was sure you'd call me out for it, maybe blackmail me, so I kept my distance at first. But you were so obvious, sweetpea. You wear your heart on your sleeve, do you know that? It's adorable, especially that look you're wearing now."

You back away, forcing your body to move.

"That beautiful young woman with the pink room and cotton candy perfume ended up finding me, choosing me. I think all this time she's been looking for a replacement for her dead daddy."

"Stop," you beg. It sounds loud in your ears but comes out quietly from your lips.

"I love you," he says in earnest. "I don't care if the world burns. Everything is just a distraction if I can't have you."

A deep breath. "You should have pushed me over that cliff when you had the chance."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he approaches you with a calm demeanor. "I know I threatened to kill you, but that was said in anger. Don't you know how much you mean to me? Frankly I'm hurt by the fact you're even thinking I'd harm you."

You look at him squarely. "Oh, you're hurt?? Why don't we make it even and I take your family away from you?"

"You wouldn't." He holds you in his grasp, looking down on you with a smug expression.

"It would make us even, Dave." With a dark look in your eyes you run your hands along his chest. "I always thought you appreciated symmetry."

His countenance warms, his embrace loosened by your coquetry. "It's fucked up, but I can't help wanting you one last time," he says.

"You're right. It's fucked up."

"Let me take you to that hotel you like so much," he insists. "A proper sendoff before you leave the country. Because nothing is going to stop us, right? We can get past this little obstacle. It's just a tiny hurdle in our relationship."

Your lips curve into a smile as your blood boils. "That expensive hotel we went to, our very first night together? I don't think that's quite the aesthetic we're going for. Take me to the cheapest fucking place that's closest to us."

The motel room is small, smells faintly of cigarette smoke and cleaning product. But it has a bed, and that's all that counts.

Dave starts to unbuckle his belt and you watch, leaning against the dresser. "Remember that first night, when I bled? You told me it was rare to happen in this day and age. But it makes sense now. You shed my father's blood when you murdered him, and you shed mine when you took my innocence."

He's naked, waiting for you to also take off your clothes. "Did you regret giving yourself to me?" He pauses. "Do you hate me?"

"I'm not going to tell you," you smirk without any levity. "Isn't it more exciting to sleep with someone when you don't know how they feel about you?" However, seeing him sans clothing, a near rarity in your relationship, does something to you. You're lucky to be female and hide your arousal for the most part. You back Dave to the bed, making sure he's watching as you take off your clothes too.

His eyes are glued to you, cock already hard at the sight of your nakedness. You press him down to the bed, straddling his lap as you take him into you. Even you can't hide your need for him, the gasp of surprise as he fills you up completely.

You use him, that's the best way to put it. You care little for his kiss or his touch. You're simply taking your pleasure from him, riding him hard, the way he likes it, holding him so close you nearly smother him.

Yes, you love him, but that love has been poisoned by the truth of what he's done. There's no love in your actions, but there are tears in your eyes as you ride him, as if you'd fuck him to death if you could.

He can feel your pain.. the pain of all those secrets revealed tonight, the pain of having to deal with a man like him. And he can feel your anger, because for you, right now, there is nothing but revenge.

You feel it as Dave make himself a blank slate to take the brute force that is the only thing you can offer in this moment, so that you can emotionally bleed out your suffering and anger onto him.

You're riding him hard, taking your pleasure in a vicious way. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," you moan.

It's a sound of desperation and release, and in a strange way it makes him want you even more. For you, this is revenge, but for him it's pleasure. He grabs you by the waist as you move on top of him, your nails dragging down his back, leaving marks that will be hard to explain later on. Your first instinct is to brush his hands off you, but you're so close to coming, and in that moment you don't care what Dave has done, or who he will hurt in the future. You just need him, and your heart allows a little bit of his love to pierce your armor.

With his hands on your waist, he pushes up and rolls you over. You move with him, teeth tugging on his bottom lip, inflicting more violence in your lovemaking because now.. everything is different. On top, looking you in the eyes.. You might hate him, but right now he doesn't care.

"There it is, there's that anger," he mutters. "Just let it all out, sweetpea. I know what you're feeling right now. I know exactly who I am and what I can be." He takes charge again, showing you that you're not the only one with anger inside of you. He enjoys the violence you're bringing to the bed, the violence that he deserves.

It's as if you're ready for his aggression, happy that he's fighting back. You're turning that pain to pleasure because otherwise the pain will disintegrate you.

You're still cursing him: "Bastard!" "Son of a bitch!" Meanwhile your body holds his close, accepting every forceful movement.

His eyes remain locked on yours the entire time. He doesn't let you escape his gaze. He wants you to see him, because now you can't hate him without hating yourself.

He's hurting you and you're enjoying it, just as it's always been. He kisses you forcefully, moving against you, as if you can't wait for the other to break.

Your bodies crash together savagely, both of you trading your pain and anguish. You dig your fingernails down his back once more as the first sweet, fluttery feelings give way to a strong, hedonistic wave of pleasure that threatens to engulf you. There's no holding back or hiding from it. All you can do is burn within it, let your climax conquer your senses as your cunt grips him more tightly than ever before.

Dave's eyes go wide and he lets out a small groan. He feels your grief and anger, and he loves it. He holds you close as you come together, holding you close as if he never wants to let go. You feel complete when he comes, the way he pushes deep and hard against you, as if imprinting himself in you.

Afterwards, you just want to sleep. All your emotions have come to a head and you're weak from feeling them. You feel like a shell of a person.

Still, he doesn't let you go. He lays on top of you, breathing hard, sweaty from the physical exertion, trying to catch his breath.

He knows that once this night is over he'll go back to being a monster, and you'll always be the girl he betrayed in the worst way.

In this small moment you remain connected, feeling Dave's body against yours as you have so many times before. The ghost of a smile graces your lips as you look at him above you, brushing a small, sweaty strand of hair away from his forehead.

He looks down at you, filled with mixed emotions. He doesn't want to move, but he knows he has to. He climbs off you and lays next to you, watching you. The red motel sign glows into the window of your room, lighting the bed, covering your bodies in a warm scarlet glow.

"What were my father's last words?" you ask in the quietude of the moment.

"He asked for mercy," Dave answers. "He said he had a daughter who needed him. And that if I let him live, he would never cause trouble again."

You try to calm your breathing. "And then what did you do?"

A pause. "I shot him in the head." His voice is like a stone.

You look at him, this man you loved without shame, without guilt. "And how much money did you receive for killing him? What was his life worth?"

"Fifty thousand dollars."

You close your eyes. "Thank you for your honesty."

He doesn't know how to respond. He wants to defend himself, he wants to apologize, he wants to ask your forgiveness. But all he can say is: "I love you."

You turn to him in the half-darkness of the seedy motel room. "I know."

It's early when you wake, body sore, heart broken. You shower, washing away Dave's scent, his sweat, his seed, but somehow he's still under your skin.

He's fast asleep and you don't wake him.

Quietly you order a ride share service to pick you up. There's still work to do.

The next stop is the York household. The girls are still asleep this Saturday morning. Carol's home. For the last time you use your house key.

It's warm and quiet as you walk down the hallway, trying not to make too much noise. You pass by the collage of family pictures bedecking the walls: Carol and Dave on their honeymoon in Paris the girls' baby pictures, piano recitals, family vacations to Disneyland and the Grand Canyon, pictures of the life you wanted but never got.

Carol's at the table drinking coffee. "Good morning," she says brightly. "Aren't you going to miss your flight?"

"I have time." You smile back but it doesn't reach your eyes. "We need to talk."

"Sure," she says agreeably, checking her phone before putting it down, likely waiting to hear back from her husband, who hasn't come home all night.

There were times when you avoided the truth because it would get you into trouble, but now you just want the truth to set you free. "There's something you should know about your husband."

Carol's eyes are wide, already imagining the worst. Trouble at work? Gambling debts? Did he force himself on you? "What is it?" she asks softly as her nerves jangle.

You take a quick look around at the place you've called home for awhile now. When your gaze lands back on Carol's, it's impossible to keep a smirk off your face.

"Dave and I have been having an affair. We've been sleeping together for the past few months."

There's a blankness in Carol's eyes, as if she's processing the information but it's not sticking. What you've said is so sudden that she can't fully believe it yet. "You're kidding," she whispers. "You're just kidding.. right?"

You shake your head. "No.. I can tell you about the birthmark on his upper right thigh, his bondage kink, and he makes this cute little sound right before he cums, like a tiny squeak or whimper."

You feel powerful telling Carol this. "We've fucked in almost every room in this house, including your bed, just last week."

Carol's body goes limp as she assaulted by the onslaught you've unleashed. The words are too much to bear. "You're lying.."

To add insult to injury you continue: "And it's not just about sex. He loves me."

You reach into your purse and pull out your phone, pressing a few buttons and sending Carol an email. "Here's further proof. You can watch it if you want, or don't. I don't care. The tape was my idea, and Dave was more than happy to oblige."

With shaky hands Carol opens the email on her phone, clicks on the video attachment.

What she sees breaks her heart like nothing ever has before. It's not just her husband cheating on her, it's the two of you sharing intimacy, bodies locked together in a passion she had no idea you'd felt for each other.

Now she knows you're not lying, and she can't bear the thought of all the love she's given Dave being betrayed like this. She looks at you with tears in her eyes, her body shaking as she tries to pull herself together. She refuses to be the weak wife who bawls over her husband's misconduct, who eats her own bitter, broken heart in front of the godforsaken Other Woman.

"Why?" she simply asks.

"Why?" you repeat. "Because sometimes, Carol, people come into our lives just to ruin it, to change it irreparably." In saying that, you're thinking of your father, a bullet through his brain, Dave on the other side, holding the smoking gun.

Upstairs you grab your luggage, coming down to see that Carol is still crying, still watching the video, the sounds of your wicked moans and Dave's sultry praise audible through her phone.

"A word to the wise," you leave her with parting words. "I'm not the first one Dave's cheated on you with. Odds are I won't be the last."

You leave your house key on the table in the front hall. On your way outside in the crisp morning air you feel inexplicably lighter. Grabbing your phone you text Dave one last time:

Mutally assured destruction 🖤

Getting back into your Lyft you glance back at the house and see the girls there, Alice and Molly, their faces pressed to the window like car window cling toys. You don't wave to them, even when they're trying to get your attention. You can't save them anymore than they can save you.

He destroyed your family, and now you're returning the favor.

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dividers by @firefly-graphics & @saradika-graphics

taglist: @untamedheart81 @guelyury @auteurdelabre @darkheartgatita (if I have forgotten anyone, or for a request to be tagged in future chapters, please inbox me)

[zapreportsblog]

Girl I think we all need some poly ghostface where stu and billy are teasing the reader and talking about them like their not there, "i dont know...maybe if they asked ever so nicely for it, they would get what they want..." ;)) it can be smut or not idm. Love ur writing so much <33333

❝highschool detective on the case❞

✭ pairing : poly ghostface x reader

✭ fandom : scream

✭ summary : (y/n) is the new girl who just moved up from (hometown) she has a crazy fetish when it comes to serial killers having taken it upon herself to even solve unsolved murder cases - which she gets from her father. He was the top detective in his unit after all. Upon hearing about this ghostface killer she dives into detective mood grabbing their attention in the process

✭ authors note : I think we all are borderline psychotic when it comes to these two nibwits also thank you for requesting and I’m glad you’re enjoying my works so far :)

✭ slashers masterlist

Woodsboro High School buzzed with the energy of a new school year, and (Y/N) had just arrived, ready to start fresh in this unfamiliar town. As she stepped onto the campus, her presence stood out like a stark contrast to the other students.

She wore a leather trench coat that fell just past her thighs, giving her an enigmatic aura. Low-rise washed-out jeans hugged her hips, revealing a tattoo on her lower stomach. Her hair was styled in a pixie cut, and dark shades shielded her eyes, giving her an almost FBI agent-like mystique. Chunky boots completed her unconventional ensemble, and a crop top black vest shirt adorned with a rhinestone skull on the breast part added an edgy touch.

As she walked through the courtyard, students couldn't help but stare and whisper amongst themselves, wondering who this mysterious new girl was and what her story might be. (Y/N), however, seemed oblivious to the attention, her mind focused on something else entirely.

Reclining on a bench, she delved into the contents of her notes. In her lap lay a case file, weathered by time and use, filled with photographs, notes, and articles. It was the unsolved murder case from her hometown that her father, a dedicated detective, had entrusted to her once the trail had gone cold.

(Y/N) was determined to find answers and bring closure to the grieving families back home, even if it meant uprooting her life and starting anew in Woodsboro. The gravity of the task weighed heavily on her, and her fierce dedication to solving the case had become her driving force.

Throughout the day, students at Woodsboro High had been attempting to strike up conversations with (Y/N), but her terse responses and preoccupied demeanor made it clear that she had little interest in making friends. She was on a mission, and she had no time for idle chitchat.

At lunch, (Y/N) found a quiet spot to sit alone, her case file still in her lap as she reviewed the evidence once more. Lost in thought, she didn't notice Stu, one of her classmates, approaching from behind. He playfully wrapped his arms around her shoulders and said, "Now, what do we have here?"

(Y/N) stiffened at the unexpected contact but quickly composed herself. She turned to glance at Stu, taking in his appearance before responding with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't you a bit too old to not know about personal hygiene?"

Stu, looking slightly offended, discreetly sniffed himself and made a face. "Hey, I don't stink!"

Tatum, Stu's girlfriend, along with her friends Sidney and Sidney's boyfriend, also joined the group, curious about the interaction. Randy, another student, chimed in, intrigued by (Y/N)'s mysterious presence. "What's that you're reading?" he asked, peering at her lap.

In her usual blunt tone, (Y/N) replied, "A case."

The group exchanged puzzled glances, clearly taken aback by her straightforward response. Stu was the first to regain his composure, a mischievous grin forming on his face. "A case, huh? You're a detective or something?"

(Y/N) didn't provide any additional information, her eyes returning to the contents of the file. She was used to curious glances and questions, but her focus remained unwavering on her mission to uncover the truth.

Randy's curiosity remained unabated, and he leaned in closer, asking, "So, what's the case about?"

(Y/N) let out a sigh and put her notes aside, her expression serious as she shared a glimpse of her purpose. "I'm trying to solve a cold case from my hometown. It involves a young woman who was violently beaten and tortured."

Tatum raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled. "But if it's a cold case, why are you trying to solve it now?"

(Y/N) shrugged, her dedication evident in her reply. "It's just a hobby I enjoy."

Billy, who had been listening quietly, couldn't help but become more intrigued. He leaned in with a casual demeanor and asked, "So, you're into things like that, huh?"

(Y/N) met his gaze with a cool, unwavering stare. "Yup. I was raised watching the dangers of the world and even experiencing it."

The group fell silent for a moment, absorbing (Y/N)'s cryptic response. Her presence had added an unexpected layer of mystery to their lunchtime gathering, and they couldn't help but wonder about the secrets she held and the motivations driving her pursuit of a cold case.

Sidney, feeling a twinge of awkwardness, couldn't help but blurt out, "What kind of experiences are you talking about?" But she quickly realized the insensitivity of her question and immediately apologized, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

(Y/N) simply shrugged off the awkward moment, her demeanor unphased by Sidney's unintended bluntness. "No worries," she replied calmly before elaborating on her past. "I've seen quite a bit, to be honest. When I was three, I watched an unsub murder my mom right in front of me."

Sidney's eyes widened in shock, regret for her earlier question apparent on her face.

(Y/N) continued, her tone steady. "Then, when I was thirteen, I was kidnapped as part of a blackmail attempt against my father. He's a detective, you see. Since then, I've been to all sorts of crime scenes, helping him with his work."

Stu couldn't help but comment, "Wow, that's dark."

Billy, mumbling under his breath, added, "Wicked."

(Y/N) acknowledged their reactions with a nonchalant nod, as if her experiences were just a matter-of-fact part of her life. She had learned to cope with the darkness she had witnessed and embraced her role as an amateur detective, eager to make sense of the chaos around her.

Breaking the now oncoming silence (Y/N) decides to ask her own question, “So what’s fun around here?” Tatum taking it upon herself decides to reply back whiles filing her mails, “Not much honestly, though shopping is always on the table.”

But (Y/N) wasn't interested in the usual teenage pastimes. She leaned in, her eyes gleaming with curiosity, and clarified, "No, no, no! I'm talking murder cases here, blonde. Anything good?"

Randy, who had already labeled her as a weirdo, rolled his eyes, muttering, "Oh, no, not another weirdo."

(Y/N) couldn't help but give Randy a proud smirk, as if she embraced that title with pride. Sidney and Tatum, perhaps sensing the direction the conversation was about to take, excused themselves from the group.

Stu, always eager for attention, chimed in, "You know, Sidney's mom's murder was pretty wild. She was having an affair, and the guy must've gone crazy and slaughtered her."

(Y/N) listened intently, a crazed look in her eyes, and responded, "Yeah, now there's the good stuff. Tell me more."

Billy, with a hint of excitement in his voice, added, "There was also the murder of those two students not too long ago. It was pretty brutal."

"A murder, you say?" (Y/N) leaned in with an unsettling grin, her curiosity piqued. "Tell me about it."

Stu, relishing the chance to share a gruesome tale, went into chilling detail about the murder. "Well, my ex, Cassie, she was slaughtered. Her body was found strung up by her own organs in her front yard. It was... brutal. And her boyfriend, Derek, was found duct-taped to a lawn chair and drowned in the pool at her house. His intestines were out too."

(Y/N)'s eyes sparkled with a disturbing excitement as she listened to the horrifying description. She pressed for more information, asking, "Any leads on the killer?"

The boys exchanged glances and shook their heads. "No, not really," Billy admitted.

Randy added, "And Sidney, she was attacked a few nights after that. She said the killer was masked and wore what looked like a ghost mask."

(Y/N)'s grin widened at the mention of the masked killer, her fascination with the macabre evident. It seemed that the darker the story, the more it intrigued her. The group had unwittingly drawn her into their web of murder mysteries, and little did they know that her relentless pursuit of the truth would soon unearth secrets that would put them all in grave danger.

“Seems this town just got a little more interesting,'" (y/n) remarked with an eerie grin as the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. She gathered her things and excused herself, leaving Randy to his own devices as he followed suit and left.

Now, only Stu and Billy remained alone at the table. Billy's eyes darkened, and a sinister glint danced in them as he leaned in closer to Stu. He asked in a hushed tone, "Should we go after her tonight?"

Stu, hyped up by the disturbing stories and (Y/N)'s unnerving interest in murder cases, couldn't help but share Billy's excitement. He replied with an eager grin, "Hell yeah."

(Y/N) returned home after a long day at Woodsboro High, finding a note from her dad, the detective, explaining that he would be back late, as usual. With a resigned sigh, she decided to unwind, slipping into comfortable sweatpants and a tank top.

She settled onto the couch, surrounded by an array of open books, articles, and her laptop, her research materials for delving into the recent murders that had captured her fascination. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the soft glow of her laptop screen.

Hours passed as she scoured the internet for any information about the brutal murders that had taken place in Woodsboro. (Y/N)'s determination was unwavering, her thirst for answers driving her to dig deeper into the dark mysteries of the town.

The hours dragged on, and fatigue began to creep in. Despite her best efforts, the weight of exhaustion overcame her, and (Y/N) eventually drifted into a fitful nap on the couch, her mind still haunted by the gruesome details of the unsolved murders that had consumed her thoughts.

(Y/N) woke up late at night, the room cast in darkness except for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. She glanced at the clock, which read 10:00 PM. Her dad still hadn't returned home, but she was used to his late hours.

Feeling hungry, she decided to order some food delivery to keep her going while she continued her research. As she dialed her order, anticipation for a late-night snack grew. She gave the delivery address and hung up, ready to return to her work.

Just as she settled back into her research, her phone rang, startling her. She picked it up, and at first, the voice on the other end played it off as a wrong number. But then they began asking personal questions.

"So, do you have a boyfriend?" the voice inquired.

(Y/N), her curiosity piqued, retorted playfully, "Why? You trying to ask me out?"

The person on the other line let out a smirk, their tone suggestive as they asked again, "So, do you have a boyfriend?"

(Y/N) decided to tease them with an equally suggestive response, "Perhaps." She was intrigued by the mysterious caller and couldn't help but engage in their unusual late-night conversation.

As (Y/N) found herself engaged in this mysterious late-night conversation, her curiosity only grew when the person on the other end suggested, "Let's play a game."

"What kind of game?" she asked, her tone laced with intrigue.

The voice on the phone responded, "I want to know your favorite scary movie."

(Y/N) didn't hesitate to share her interests. "Well, I really enjoyed 'The Craft.' It's a fascinating blend of witchcraft, teenage rebellion, and a dash of horror. The story revolves around a group of high school girls who form a coven and use their newfound powers for personal gain. But as their abilities grow, so does the darkness that haunts them. It's a captivating exploration of the consequences of wielding supernatural abilities and the complexities of female friendship."

She paused briefly before continuing, "Another one I really liked is 'Thinner.' It's based on a Stephen King novel and tells the story of a morbidly obese lawyer who's cursed by a gypsy and begins to inexplicably lose weight at an alarming rate. The film delves into themes of karma, guilt, and the unintended consequences of our actions. The slow, agonizing transformation of the main character is both terrifying and thought-provoking."

(Y/N) went on to describe the intricate details of both films, her passion for horror movies evident in her animated discussion. She shared her insights on the characters, the plot twists, and the underlying themes, displaying an impressive knowledge of the genre. The mysterious caller on the other end seemed intrigued by her enthusiasm.

The person on the other end of the line, after inquiring about her favorite scary movies, pressed for her name. (Y/N), however, wasn't so quick to reveal her identity. "Why should I tell you my name when you haven't told me yours?" she countered.

A sinister chuckle came through the phone before the voice replied, "Because I want to know the name of who I'm watching right now. Nice top, by the way."

(Y/N), far from being scared, merely rolled her eyes and glanced out the window behind her. She smirked into the darkness and said, "So, this is the infamous killer of Woodsboro? Would've expected better, but then again, you're just a small-town killer."

The voice on the other end of the line grew audibly offended, and they began to issue chilling threats. They spoke of slicing her open, just like they had done to Cassie, and leaving her hanging for her father to find. The threats were meant to intimidate, to strike fear into (Y/N)'s heart.

However, she remained surprisingly unshaken. Instead of cowering, she chuckled, a mix of defiance and amusement in her voice. "Give it your best shot," she taunted, her bravado unwavering. "I'm not one to back down from a challenge."

The late-night conversation had taken a menacing turn, and (Y/N) was about to find herself entangled in a perilous game of wits and survival with a cunning and ruthless adversary.

The next day at school, (Y/N) arrived with an unusual cheeriness about her. Stu and the rest of her newfound friends couldn't help but notice her upbeat demeanor, and Stu was the first to comment, asking, "What's got you so cheery today?"

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, (Y/N) replied, "Oh, you won't believe this. I've got video footage of Ghostface trying to break into my house."

The revelation sent shockwaves through the group, their eyes widening in disbelief. "No way," they chimed in unison.

(Y/N), however, seemed nonchalant as she waved off their amazement. "Yes way," she affirmed, laughing it off as if it were just another everyday occurrence.

Randy couldn't help but express his surprise. "I'm surprised you're not dead," he remarked, his tone laced with incredulity.

(Y/N) shrugged, her explanation casual. "My dad had our houses revamped before we moved here. Custom locks, gateways, and cameras. No one gets in unless they want them to. It's like living in a fortress."

As the group absorbed this information, (Y/N) decided to take a teasing turn. She smirked and declared, "Oh, this is going to be fun. I haven't been hunted like this in a while."

The reaction from her friends was mixed, to say the least. Most were creeped out by her unusual enthusiasm, especially given the recent unsettling events. But Stu and Billy, the true culprits behind the Ghostface mask, couldn't help but exchange sly glances. Their nefarious plan was in motion, and (Y/N) had just unknowingly stoked the flames of their sinister game.

Billy couldn't resist adding a chilling remark, his tone laced with dark humor, "I don't know... maybe if they asked ever so nicely for it, they would get what they want."

“What’s the suppose to mean?” (Y/n) remarks and billy shrugs it off “Who knows maybe the killer is somewhere watching you, after all you can never be too careful.”