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punkshort · 7 months ago

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Roommates | 10. just us two

Pairing: (ex)pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settle into your new lives together.

Chapter Warnings: language, alcohol and food consumption, massive quantities of fluff, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex (reader is on BC), oral sex (f!receiving), spanking, pussy pronouns, multiple orgasms, some sex tape action 👀

WC: 7.1K

A/N: Okay, we've reached the end of the road for these two! I can't believe I'm wrapping up another fic, jfc. Thank you so much for sticking around and expressing so much love and excitement for this story. It means so much to me that I'm able to share this part of myself with people who are just as happy as me about these characters. This chapter wasn't really necessary, most loose ends are already tied up but they deserved to be happy, so this entire chapter is just love and fluff and smut. Shout out to @txtattoostark for listening to me yap and for the watermelon moonshine inspo. Enjoy, and thanks again ❤️

Series Masterlist

One Month Later

Joel smiled to himself as he watched you in the kitchen with his mom from his spot in the living room. The old radio next to the sink, dusty and missing two buttons, was softly playing jazz music while you both worked on dinner. It wasn't the trailer park he grew up in. The small ranch house his mother bought with the life insurance money she received after his father passed away wasn't too bad. He begged her for years to let him give her some money, to buy her a place closer to town, to pay for new appliances at the very least, but she always refused. Instead, he found himself visiting her whenever he had a few days off so he could fix the sink or the washer or cut the grass.

He didn't mind. It was a good excuse to come visit. He enjoyed catching up and spending time with her.

But now, with you? Watching the way you seamlessly moved around the kitchen, laughing with his mom and stirring things in pots while swaying your hips in those tight denim shorts... yeah, this was different. This was much better.

"Hey, brother," Tommy said from behind, startling him out of his rosy daydream. Joel stood with a smile to engulf Tommy in a hug once he kicked off his shoes.

"You look tan," he remarked, then reached for Maria and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"New Orleans was sunny," Tommy said, holding some bottle of clear alcohol in his hand. "Brought back some moonshine. Watermelon. Mama's favorite."

"Oh, Tommy! Maria! You're back!" their mother cried from the kitchen before wiping her hands on a towel and hurrying over to the front door, her worn out blue slippers catching on the rug as she walked. "How was your honeymoon?" she asked after she squeezed them both within an inch of their lives.

"Amazing," Maria said happily. "We had such a great time. Have you ever been?"

Mrs. Miller shook her head. "Maybe James will take me one day."

"Is he here?" Tommy asked, handing his mother the liquor.

"No, he's visiting his daughter out of town this weekend. Come on, I have some snacks out."

The four of them entered the kitchen and you swiveled around with a big smile. Setting down the wooden spoon you were holding, you threw your arms around Maria's neck, then Tommy's.

"How was it?" you asked them, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

You and Maria fell into an animated conversation about some haunted ghost tour when Tommy cleared his throat and propped his hands on his hips.

The pair of you stopped talking to look at him questioningly, then realization dawned on you. You smirked and shook your head before digging into your back pocket to pull out a folded bill and slapped it into his palm.

"You were right, Tommy."

He laughed and tucked the money into his shirt pocket.

"Thought you mighta forgot."

Joel frowned and looked between the two of you curiously, but Maria seemed to know exactly what was going on because she was already chuckling to herself.

You glanced over at Joel, who was eating a cracker with cheese, and your expression softened. "Best hundred bucks I ever lost."

"The hell you givin' him a hundred bucks for?" Joel asked incredulously, but you just slipped your arms around his waist and rested your chin against his chest with a smile.

"I lost a bet," you told him.

He practically melted into a puddle under your touch. He couldn't get enough. After a year of denying yourselves or sneaking around, it felt so good to be open. He refused to ever take it for granted, so he tilted your face up and pressed a tender kiss against your lips. He felt your mouth twitch into a smile when Tommy groaned in fake disgust.

"Thought we were the newlyweds here."

You broke the kiss to shoot him a look over your shoulder.

"Try and keep up."

Joel tossed his head back and laughed, then released his hold on you so you could return to the stove. Maria washed her hands and picked up a knife to chop vegetables and Tommy reached for the bottle of moonshine their mother left on the counter.

"Let's crack into this," he said, and Joel nodded. He weaved through the kitchen to open up the cupboard where the glasses were kept, grabbing five tumblers. You were swaying again with the music and you gently knocked into him with your hips, just enough to tease him, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Watch yourself, baby," he warned with a wink before placing the glasses down next to Tommy so he could pour.

Joel couldn't remember a time he had seen his mother look so happy. The five of them sat around her dining room table, a table made for four but you all squeezed in, knees knocking together underneath, arms brushing against one another, and it felt perfect.

He leaned back in his chair after finishing his food, one arm draped along the back of your chair, his other hand loosely holding his glass of moonshine and he smiled. He tried to pay attention to Maria and his brother tell stories about their honeymoon, but he had a hard time looking away from you. Eventually, he stopped trying. His gaze slid down your face, admiring your smile and the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed.

He was so fucking lucky.

Tearing his eyes away to bring his glass to his lips, he caught his mother watching him across the table with a knowing smile. She winked at him before giving Tommy her attention once again and Joel felt his face warm.

Once dinner was over, he and Tommy stood to clear everyone's plates. A habit that was formed early on in their lives. Whoever didn't cook had to clean up.

After the dishes were done and the leftovers were packed away, the two brothers refilled their glasses and wandered out to the back porch where their mother, you and Maria had ended up.

Maria and Mrs. Miller were strolling around the yard, their mother pointing out plants and flowers and telling Maria some long winded story about each. The deer hate this one. Cindy up the street cut a chunk of this out of her garden for me, can you believe how big it is now? I got this from Home Depot on clearance half dead, look how good it's doing.

"Better go save her," Tommy murmured before jogging down the steps. Joel plopped himself next to you on the porch with a sigh and clinked your glasses together.

"Lucky you already got the flower tour earlier," he told you.

You bit your lip and chuckled. "She really loves her garden."

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. The sun was setting and you could hear the crickets coming to life all around you. Birds swooped anxiously overhead, rushing back to their nests for the night. A cool breeze floated through the air, rustling your hair and making you shiver.

"C'mere," he murmured, patting his thigh. You smirked and shook your head but put your glass down and stood to perch on his leg, wrapping your arms around his neck lovingly and giving him a chaste kiss.

He hummed in approval and licked his lips. "Taste good."

"Like watermelon?" you asked, fingers twisting around the long strands of hair on the back of his head.

He nodded. "And you."

You kissed him once again, lingering a bit longer that time so you could fully appreciate the softness of his lips between yours and breathing in deep the scent of soap still stuck to his skin.

Then voices began to grow louder behind you, indicating your alone time was coming to an end.

Tommy stumbled on the stairs leading up the porch and you turned around on Joel's lap. He wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you right where you were, before teasing his brother.

"Better take it easy. You been out for two weeks at work, you ain't callin' in tomorrow 'cause you're hungover."

Tommy rolled his eyes and took your abandoned chair.

"Yes, boss."

"How are things at the bar, Joel?" his mother asked, sitting down with a sigh. "I'm so glad you found some work I can actually tell my girlfriends about without lying."

You stifled a giggle and glanced at Maria, who was also trying to hold back her laughter.

"Good, Mama," Joel said, ignoring her other comment. His chin came to rest over your shoulder as he spoke. "The remodel is done. Opened up the room so there's a place to dance. Easier for customers to move around. Everyone's been real excited to see the changes. Been busy."

"He's been working so hard, too," you added, twisting to your side so your fingers could lovingly rake through the hair on the back of his neck. "Some days I don't even see him."

Mrs. Miller gave you a sympathetic look but you could tell she was proud of her oldest son for venturing outside his comfort zone and applying himself.

"So you're all moved in, I take it?" Maria asked, and you nodded.

"Didn't really have much. Most of my things were still packed from when I moved out."

"She's been sprucin' up the place, too. You oughta see it," Joel said fondly. "Got pretty lookin' art on the walls, fluffy pillows and blankets for the couch. Actually got some food in the damn fridge, too."

Tommy laughed heartily. "That mean you'll stop swipin' fries and shit from the kitchen?"

"Hey, I'm payin' for those fries. I'll take 'em if I want 'em," he said with a scowl, then looked up at you, his eyes softening. "But it's nice to have dinner waitin' for me at home," he added, bringing a smile to your face.

"You were always terrible at cooking," you teased, tugging on his earlobe playfully between your fingers.

The night dragged on, the stars lit up the quiet night sky and Mrs. Miller eventually began to yawn, indicating it was time to head home.

Home.

It felt so right to think of it that way. It was where you belonged. But you knew it wasn't simply the house. You could have been living in a shack and you would still be just as happy because it was with him.

Joel gripped your thigh while he drove his truck with one hand on the steering wheel. The windows were down, the wind whipped at your face, tangling your hair when you turned your head to gaze over at him.

"See anythin' you like?" he teased when he spotted you admiring him from the corner of his eye.

You giggled and felt his fingers squeeze your bare leg.

"You know what I want?"

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards and his eyes darkened with excitement. "What's that, sweetheart?"

You seductively ran your palm up his arm, sighing at the way his muscles twitched under your fingertips.

"I would really, really love... a vegetable garden."

You laughed at the way his face fell in mock disappointment.

"I'll build you a vegetable garden," he finally said as he turned onto your street.

"Really?" you asked with a huge smile. He nodded and shot you a wink.

"'Course. Whatever you want, baby."

Joel stayed true to his word. About a week later you woke up on Saturday morning to the distant sound of a hammer beating a piece of wood in the backyard. Stretching a lazy arm out to your side, you pouted when you found Joel was missing.

Then the pieces slowly clicked together.

It was a rare weekend off for him. You had been talking about it for the past few days. He was looking forward to Tommy returning to work so he wouldn't be so short staffed and he could relax with you for two whole days. You didn't come up with any plans except laying in bed, ordering takeout and watching movies, content to just spend time together. But Joel sweetly surprised you by waking up early, something he absolutely detested, so he could build you the vegetable garden you asked for.

You lightly padded down the steps still clad in your tank top and shorts to grab a mug from the cupboard. The coffee pot sizzled with heat when you plucked it from the burner, half the liquid already gone. Once you fixed it the way you liked, you walked out onto the back deck and leaned over the railing, your mug cupped in both hands, to fully appreciate the sight before you.

Joel had his back to you as he crouched over a simple rectangular wooden frame on the ground. You could see the sweat collecting on the back of his neck and it made your mouth water. As your eyes traveled lower, you noticed the dark patches in his shirt forming at his collar and between his shoulder blades, making your thighs clench together while he worked, completely oblivious to you watching him, listening to him grunt and sigh when he lifted a new piece of wood.

You swallowed thickly before taking a sip of your coffee, your eyes never leaving his form while he stood to stretch his back. He lifted his hat from his head and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip. Something was so fucking hot about him getting all sweaty and worked up, but on that particular day? When he was making you something, sacrificing his rare down time just for you? It lit a fire inside you that couldn't be tamed.

Before he noticed, you scooted back inside to fill up a glass of ice water. With your hand hovering over the door handle, you got an idea that sent a jolt of arousal right through you. Without giving yourself a chance to overthink it, you pulled down your shorts and underwear, kicking your panties off to land on the couch, and shimmied your shorts back on.

Your pulse was fucking racing with excitement when you stepped outside once again, but this time you made sure to make a little noise so Joel would hear you. When the door clicked shut, he turned around and grinned before setting down his tools and stepping into the shade.

"Thank you, darlin'," he murmured when you handed him the water.

"You're welcome," you replied, your hands clasping behind your back as you practically vibrated in place with nervous energy. His eyes flicked down your body curiously right when he was finishing up his drink.

"Sleep okay?" he asked, sensing something was off while he set the glass down on the deck.

"Mhmm," you said, a nervous grin spreading across your face. "Missed you, though."

He chuckled and wiped some sweat away from his face with the bottom of his shirt. Your mouth went dry and your eyes instantly locked onto his tanned stomach and the dark smattering of curls that led below his waistband. The sleep shorts you were wearing were thin. If they were a lighter color, you could probably see right through them if you really looked. As it turned out, they were also terrible at absorbing moisture because they were sticking uncomfortably to your inner thighs while you waited for him to notice.

"Huh?" you said when you realized he was speaking.

He shook his head and dropped his shirt back down. "I said, I'm makin' you the damn garden you wanted."

You inched forward and took his hand in yours. "Well, do you think it can wait? Because I need to show you something inside that needs your help."

Somehow, he was still not picking up what you were implying.

"Baby, I'm on a roll. I just need another hour, maybe two-"

You tugged the hand you were holding between your legs and his eyes widened when he felt the wetness waiting for him there.

"Sorry. Got tired of being subtle," you told him with a playful smirk. He whipped his head around, checking to see if any of the neighbors were out tending to their lawns or enjoying their morning coffee on their patios while his fingers hooked around the soaked material.

You saw in his face the exact moment he realized you were bare underneath your shorts. It was like his brain was buffering, desperately trying to calculate how long he allowed you to stand there practically begging to be fucked while he rambled on about a goddamn garden. The surprise in his features slowly faded into the hazy, lust filled gaze you were so familiar with, and you smiled triumphantly.

"Get your ass inside right fuckin' now before I do somethin' that'll get us both thrown in jail," he growled, something primal shifting in his face while his body flooded with arousal, his need for you dripping heavier in his veins with each steady beat of his heart.

You squeaked and covered your ass when he swat at you from behind, then you hurried past him, back into the house.

Looking back on it, to think you would have made it upstairs to your bedroom was comical. His hands grabbed your hips halfway up the carpeted steps, pulling you down as you laughed giddily and pretended to try to fight off his attack, clawing fruitlessly at the stairs while he smiled into your lower back where his mouth was alternating kisses and bites across your skin.

"You wanted attention, you got it," he mumbled before yanking your shorts down and sinking his teeth into the flesh of your ass. Not enough to really hurt, but enough to make you yelp in surprise and leave a few linear indents in your skin.

Joel usually took his time with you. He preferred it that way. He liked to watch your face as he tormented you between your legs. He liked to see what new sounds he could pull from your throat when he changed an angle.

But not that day.

No, that day he yanked your shorts all the way off, tossing them over his shoulder and down the steps before grabbing your hips with his hands, all rough and sweaty from working outside.

You braced yourself for the inevitable stretch, the welcome yet slightly painful intrusion that you yearned for, but what happened next shocked you.

Your eyes widened and you gasped when you felt his mouth descend on your pussy from behind, his tongue immediately setting an intense pace, which was a change from the way he usually ate you. But speed and passion weren't the only variation. He never, ever went down on you from behind before.

"I- J-Joel, what are... oh," you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as he lapped eagerly at your core. Instinctively, you spread your hips and sunk down further onto his mouth. Your cheek was rubbing harshly against the carpet and your lips were parted, allowing a small trail of drool to trickle down your chin. If you had any awareness left, you might have cared, but the pleasure he was building between your legs left your brain completely numb.

"Oh, fuck yes, Joel - keep going, just like that," you groaned, reaching behind you blindly to grab a fistful of his hair. "Fuck you and that fucking mouth," you gasped when his tongue flatted against your clit. He chuckled against your core but didn't stop. His hand slid up the back of your thigh and gave your cheek a firm jiggle before smacking his palm down across your ass. You jolted forward, your forehead bumping up against the next step, and cried out for more so he did it again, but on the other side.

"You like that?" he panted, pulling away from you for just a moment to catch his breath. You arched your back, giving him a generous view of the mess he left between your legs and he was afraid for the first time ever that he might come completely untouched. He inhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose when he saw your cunt pulse, calling to him like a goddamn siren at sea. "Fuck, so beautiful," he growled before closing his eyes and picking up right where he left off.

His thumbs spread your lips so his tongue could tease your entrance, scooping up your arousal and rutting his hips against the stairs, eating you like he was about to go off to war.

"I'm... oh, shit, Joel!" you exclaimed, pulling at his hair roughly so he wouldn't dare try to stop when you were so close to your climax. And he could sense it. He was good at that. He knew what you needed sometimes before you even knew. So once again, he brought his palm down sharply across your ass, a little harder that time but not too much. Just enough to leave a few seconds of sting, electrifying your nerve endings and pulling you over the edge.

Two tears rolled down your cheeks when you came. The little bit of pain from his hand and the carpet digging into your cheek and knees mixed with your pleasure in such a way that it left you breathless.

Finally, once he felt your legs begin to tremble and whimpers fell from your lips, he pulled away with a deep gasp. His eyes were pinned to the way your pussy looked; all drenched with a combination of his spit and your release, and he cursed under his breath.

"She looks so fuckin' good, baby, wish you could see what I see," he murmured, mesmerized as he continued to stare without any shame. You hardly had any of your senses. Your breath was ragged and your throat was dry but still, you tilted your chin and whispered, "show me."

A wide smile stretched across his face and his eyes lit up.

"Yeah? You'd let me take a picture of this pretty pussy?" he asked, but he was already digging in his back pocket for his phone. You nodded, eyes still closed.

When both his hands left your waist, you arched your back a bit more and spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. You heard a deep groan rumble from his chest and he whispered, "fuckin' natural, baby," before you heard the shutter on his phone. One, two, three times at least you heard the familiar little click, click, then he leaned over your slumped body and slid his phone in front of your face.

"See? Look at you. Look at what I get to see," he murmured into your ear. Your eyes opened and widened as you stared at your wrecked pussy on the screen.

"Oh, wow," you breathed, not expecting at all to find it sexy, but you did. You fucking did. "Look at what you did to me," you said, craning your neck over your shoulder. His eyes flickered with heat and his mouth crashed down onto yours.

"Just wait til I split you open on my cock," he said, his voice rumbling against your back. "Have you all stuffed full with my cum. Now that's a pretty sight."

You groaned and shakily pushed yourself up.

"I'm begging you, please, Joel... do not fuck me on these stairs. My knees are killing me."

He laughed and helped you stand, legs wobbling just a little.

"Nah. I got an idea and we can't do it here."

You laid underneath the covers in bed, your lower half still bare and your tank top still on while you nervously chewed on your lower lip, watching Joel at the foot of the bed tinker with a camcorder he had buried somewhere in his closet that he swore up and down he never used with anyone else.

Never wanted to before, he had said when you eyed it suspiciously after he explained he swiped it from a set when it was used as a prop in one of his films years ago.

"Battery's dead but I'll just leave it plugged in," he said, then he flipped out the little screen tucked into the side of the device and swiveled it around so it was facing out. He set it on his end table and adjusted it until he was satisfied with the angle, then looked over his shoulder with a grin.

"You sure?" he clarified again. Your eyes flickered from him to the camera, then back again.

"Yeah," you squeaked, your voice very clearly betraying you. His gaze softened and he leaned across the bed to press a chaste kiss against your forehead.

"We don't gotta do this," he assured you. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"No," you replied, shaking your head. "I want to, I'm just nervous."

He scoffed and readjusted himself so he was lying next to you, blocking the idle camera.

"Nothin' to be nervous 'bout. It's just for me 'n you," he murmured before cupping your face and pressing his lips tenderly against yours. When his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, you sighed and looped your arms around his neck, melting into his embrace and deepening the kiss. His hand slid down from your cheek to squeeze your breast, groaning a little when he pinched your nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

His lips dragged down to your jaw, his teeth grazing your throat until he found a spot he liked and latched on while pushing the sheets from your body. The anticipation bubbled up while his hand continued to travel lower, your legs instinctively falling open for him. You finally relaxed when he successfully distracted you with his fingers through your folds and gasped as he slid two inside you with ease.

"Oh, yeah, you're ready for me," he moaned into your neck, his erection bordering on painful. He exhaled shakily when one of your hands wrapped around his length and began to gently stroke him, your palm so soft and warm that he almost forgot about the camera.

"C'mon, baby, sit up f'me," he said, pulling his hand from between your legs and leaning back so he could kick his jeans off. You scrambled to sit, your breaths coming in shallow pants as you watched him tug his shirt over his head. When he reached for the hem of your tank top, he paused and turned to tap the record button on the camcorder. Instantly, your limbs went rigid and your hands fell to your lap, covering yourself, but when he turned back to you he pinched your chin in his fingers, pulling your nervous gaze from the camera lens.

"Eyes on me," he told you, his voice low and deep, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded and raised your arms so he could peel off your tank top. He tossed it onto the floor and sat back on his heels to admire the way your tits sat exposed to him, his eyes darkening when your nipples hardened with arousal. He lunged forward and took one in his mouth, his hot, wet tongue lavishing your pebbled skin before switching to the other one. You tipped your head back and moaned, mouth open as you stared up blankly at the ceiling, your fingers rising to get tangled in his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, planting little kisses all over your chest and circling his arms around your ribs, tugging you closer. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trembling when his cock pressed between your bodies, his erection sliding through your wet heat and suddenly you couldn't breathe.

"I-I need you," you whimpered, weakly lifting your hips into his lap.

"I know, baby, I know," he hummed. One hand dropped to cup your ass so he could reposition his legs underneath you, then flexed his hips so the tip of his cock lined up with your opening. "Want me to fuck you just like this? Sittin' in my lap?"

You nodded, your eyelids heavy with desire as you tightened your grip around his neck. The second he pressed into you, you gasped. He watched with adoration as your eyebrows pinched together in concentration, breathing deep and slow as you relaxed and slowly took him.

"Joel," you whispered, jaw slack. "Joel, I love you."

He moaned and pulled your hips flush with his, forcing you to take the last few inches all at once. "I love you, too, baby. Christ, you're incredible. Fuckin' look at you."

Look at you. His words made you remember the camera. Your eyes flickered over to the little rectangular screen, the outline of your bodies perfectly centered, and you swallowed tightly.

"Pretend like it's the mirror," he whispered in your ear as he began to gently rock in and out, "just like the mirror at the hotel, okay?"

You nodded and sighed, your shoulders loosening and your muscles relaxing as you began to roll your hips in rhythm with his. He tightened his grip around your middle, his body engulfing you in warmth. You rested your head on his shoulder as he continued to fuck you nice and slow, stretching you out around him, reaching depths that had you reeling.

This was it. There was nothing else outside those four walls. You had everything you ever wanted right there. The way he kissed you, touched you, made love to you always left you feeling so safe. Deep down, you always knew he was the missing piece in your life, the mysterious thing you kept searching for in others and were always left disappointed. Because nobody else ever loved you and cared for you the way he did.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you told him, your tongue dragging up his neck, collecting the dried sweat with a moan. You began to bounce in his lap a little faster and he immediately matched your pace with thrusts of his own.

"I'm the one who's lucky," he said through clenched teeth. He exhaled heavily through his nose and tucked his chin to his chest so he could watch himself disappear inside your cunt. "So soft. Softest pussy. So fuckin' warm and wet, you feel so good. Goddamnit, every fuckin' time..."

You smiled to yourself as you listened to him ramble. "Maybe we're both lucky."

He chuckled and you gasped when his cock brushed up against that one spot that made you see stars. You feverishly grabbed his face with both hands and bit desperately at his lower lip, pulling it between your teeth and making him groan.

Your body was loose and pliant now, so with more confidence you quickened the roll of your hips, relishing in the way his cock felt dragging in and out of you, how your clit rubbed against the coarse hair at his base, in the noises you managed to pull from his throat each time your skin slapped together.

"Yeah, that's it, baby. Show me what you like. Oh, good girl," he groaned, hands sliding up your back to hold you as you began to lose yourself. He could see it in the look in your eyes and the way your fingers dug into his shoulders.

It was the most beautiful fucking thing.

Your body moved perfectly in tandem with his, your sharp gasps and his deep groans filling the room, the camera long forgotten by now.

"Oh, god, I'm close," you whimpered as you felt the heat that had been building begin to quickly creep up and spread through your stomach. "Oh, fuck. Oh, god... Joel, don't stop, please..." you begged, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your vision began to blur.

"I ain't stoppin'. C'mon, give it to me, lemme feel you," he growled. He snapped steadily into you now, each thrust punctuated by a grunt while his eyes locked on yours, watching with pride as you crumbled and fell apart, your walls squeezing him so beautifully as you came that it nearly pulled him right over the edge with you.

It happened fast. One second you were in his lap, your body tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the next he had pulled out of you and flipped you onto your hands and knees. Only when you felt his thick cock slide back inside did you fully realize you had switched positions. And shit, taking him from that particular angle always was so much more intense, but combined with the fact that your new view included the camera in the corner of your eye made everything so much more powerful.

You could fucking see him now and you couldn't look away, completely entranced with the way his face looked as he slammed into you. His mouth hung open as he looked down at you with what could only be described as complete and utter desire. You could feel his hand running up the length of your spine but you could also see the look of worship in his eye, the way his face twisted in pleasure when he watched your ass ripple from the force of his hips, and you felt a heavy wave suddenly crash over you once again.

"Oh, fuck!" Joel groaned loudly as he watched another orgasm shoot through you. His hands grabbed at your waist to try to keep you still, but you were trembling everywhere and you couldn't hold yourself up any longer.

You fell onto your elbows, the side of your face pressing into the bed while he held up your hips, fucking into you harder now that he could tell you were spent. "I'm gonna come, baby, I'm -" he cut himself off with a desperate whine, the buildup from the past hour or so becoming too much and causing his release to intensify.

Your bodies finally stilled and he pumped you full of his spend, his groans getting caught in his throat as he pulsed inside you. He watched in a daze when his cum started to leak out even though he was still inside, and without thinking, he snatched the camera from the bedside table so he could get a close up.

"Fuckin' hell, baby," he whispered hoarsely, chest heaving and hands shaking as he held the camera at his chest, pointing it down to where you were connected. "So glad you're back on the pill. Fuckin' beautiful, all full of me like this. Shit," he muttered, swiping a finger to collect some of his release to rub it over your clit. With a whine, your body jolted forward and he chuckled before dropping his hand, knowing you were too overstimulated.

"Joel," you whispered tiredly. Your eyelids were heavy and your thighs were shaking from the effort of holding yourself up.

"I know, baby, just one more thing and then I'll clean you up," he promised. He took a deep breath and steadied the camera before slipping out of you.

He made a pained noise in the back of his throat when he watched through the lens the way your body leaked of him, your pussy all swollen and stretched out, completely fucked, messy and used.

"Jesus," he croaked, wishing he could keep filming but your body sagged forward and he stopped the recording before tossing the camera onto the other side of the bed so he could check on you.

"You alright?"

You nodded, eyes closed, lips bitten raw, hair a complete mess but you still wore a satisfied smile.

"Tired. I think I'm gonna just..." you yawned and stretched out your shaky limbs. "Just gonna close my eyes for a sec."

He grinned and stood up to go to the bathroom, plucking a couple clean washcloths from the linen closet and wetting them both under the faucet so he could clean himself up with one and take the other back to you.

"Did you eat?" he asked softly as he gently and carefully dragged the washcloth through your thighs. You shook your head, eyes still closed. "I'm gonna go make you somethin'. Gotta eat, honey," he whispered before kissing the top of your head and covering you with the sheet. But by the time he came back upstairs with a bagel and cream cheese, you were fast asleep.

So you're getting married, then?

Well, he hasn't really asked me, not in so many words.

Four, you mean?

Huh?

Well, that's how many it takes: will you marry me?

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard two familiar voices reciting an even more familiar dialogue from the television, the volume turned down so low, you could hear the neighbor's dog barking from four houses down.

Joel shifted in bed next to you as quietly as he could, unaware you had awoken. You peered up at him, hair all messy, chest still bare, and you smiled when you caught him stifling a laugh at Audrey Hepburn.

"Hey," you said, voice coming out rougher than you expected, so you cleared your throat. He immediately muted the television and turned toward you, grinning as his eyes raked up and down your sleep-addled face.

"Hey, yourself," he said softly. He pushed the hair off your face, letting his thumb linger on your cheek while he continued to examine you closely. "Feelin' okay?"

You nodded and yawned, stretching your sore legs out underneath the blankets. "You fucked me into a coma."

He laughed heartily and rubbed his palm over his chest, embarrassment flushing his bronzed skin.

"But I guess that's what I get for shacking up with a pornstar," you added with a giggle. He tossed his head back and laughed even louder at that and you couldn't resist, his happiness too infectious. You inched forward and nuzzled into his side, his arm dropping to wrap around your shoulders.

When the laughter died down, he gazed lovingly at you and, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, reminded you, "ex-pornstar, but I suppose old habits die hard, huh?"

"Mm, maybe, but that's okay," you said, tracing light, invisible patterns on his stomach. "It's nothing I can't handle."

He cocked an eyebrow at you and smirked. "Careful, or I might have'ta hold you to that."

"Bring it on, superstar," you whispered before leaning up and pressing a gentle, soft kiss against his mouth. You licked your lips and hummed before looking up at him through your lashes. "Cream cheese?"

"I made you a bagel, but you fell asleep," he admitted, "but figured we could relax the rest of the day. Order in, watch movies... just like we said we would."

"I don't remember saying we would do all that naked," you teased.

"Thought that was implied, baby," he said with a frown. "You shacked up with a pornstar, what'd you expect?"

What did you expect? Did you ever imagine your life would turn out the way it did? Sitting in bed with a sheet wrapped around you, eating Chinese food and watching a Turner Classic Movies marathon with the man of your dreams? You always wished for it; before you met, after you became friends, while you were carrying on an illicit affair, and even when you weren't on speaking terms, you always, always wished for it. But did you ever really think it would come true?

You couldn't really remember, and at that point, it didn't matter. Because you didn't care how you got there, just as long as you were together, you were happy.

You did exactly what he said you would do. You stayed in bed until the sun began to set, wasting the whole day away curled into his side watching old movies and pointing out your favorite parts, exactly the way you used to.

It was around nine when Joel suggested going out for ice cream. Let's get out, stretch our legs and walk along the river, he had said after vowing to finish your vegetable garden the next day.

And on your way out, your hands fused together even while he struggled to lock the door one handed, you looked at the chairs on his porch and smiled to yourself.

"What's that for?" he asked, tapping your cheek lovingly while you walked side by side to his truck.

"Nothing, it's stupid," you told him with a shrug.

"Ain't nothin' you got to say is stupid to me."

You sighed when he let your hand go so you could round the truck and hop into the passenger seat. After you clicked your seatbelt into place, he put the keys in the ignition but waited to turn it on. Instead, he looked at you expectantly with his eyebrows raised.

"Fine," you mumbled, "I'm gonna sound fucking crazy, but... fine."

"Oh, well now this I gotta hear," he said.

You gave him a look before turning in your seat to face him. "The chairs on your porch." He nodded.

"So far, not crazy."

You rolled your eyes. "Remember when I came by to drop off the shirts for the Jack and Jill party?"

He nodded again and you could feel the self-consciousness begin to creep up.

"We weren't on great terms back then. I had just found out you bought a house. I felt like I hardly even knew you anymore. And I was so damn nervous, I didn't want to fuck things up even more than I already had, but when I saw you had two..." You paused when you saw the flicker of understanding cross his face. "I thought you maybe found someone else. I know. It's crazy, like I said."

Joel smiled and reached his hand across the seat to lace together with yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Got the second one for you."

Your eyes snapped up to his in surprise.

"What?" you breathed.

He gave you a shrug and tilted his head bashfully. "I was just waitin' for you."

Tears welled in your eyes as you fumbled with the seatbelt, unbuckling yourself so you could stretch your body over to his seat and pull him into a deep kiss.

"I thought I lost you," you whispered against his mouth, and he chuckled.

"You didn't. I was all yours that very first night, sweetheart."

You didn't even try to deny it. He was right. It seemed so obvious now. Why didn't you see it back then? But before you began to mentally chastise yourself for being so bullheaded, you stopped. You couldn't change the past, something you've been learning to accept in therapy for months now, but what you could do was focus on your future. And while you sat next to Joel as he drove towards your favorite ice cream place in town, windows down and stars twinkling in the sky, you smiled because your future together looked pretty damn bright.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us au #roommates fic

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 3 months ago

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nymph. [part 3] l General Marcus Acacius

Summary: you have been with him for a long time, but he has never seen you. but everything has changed.

Warnings: fluff, talks about slavery and territorial expansion, mythological figures treated in a simple way

A/N: My dears. I have to admit that I am proud of what I have done so far writing this series. Wow, a series! What was supposed to be just something short has now another chapter and I think there will be a few more. Please forgive me that not much is happening here. I wanted to introduce our characters to a new environment, it took me a while. I hope you will be understanding and gentle with me. Thank you for your wonderful reaction when I announced writing another chapter. It was really encouraging. I send you all my love.

I hope you will be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

nymph [masterlist]

Rome was dazzling. All the buildings, temples and roads, palaces and squares were full of its inhabitants. And Marcus, welcomed in this center of the world as equal to the gods.

The victories he brought with him and laid at the feet of the Emperor, earned him the recognition and love of the people. The empire grew in strength and power, thanks to General Acacius.

And then there was you.

Marcus made sure you were transported by his most trusted men to his home. He didn't want you to be in the palace, not yet.

The whispers of envious people, the jealousy and treachery, he didn't want to expose you to that. But there was something else. Something he was afraid of, but he didn't tell you about it.

Marcus was afraid that your appearance among the noble people of Rome from the Emperor's entourage would arouse unwanted interest from him. You could be considered by them as a spoil of war, his private concubine, someone equal to slaves. The thought itself stirred the blood in his veins.

He was calmer and better at playing his role as the Emperor's pet, knowing that you were waiting for him safely in his chambers.

"What troubles you, Acacius? Let me free your head from your worries." The curious voice of Emperor Geta reached his ears.

"It's nothing, my lord." Marcus nodded, his lips twisting into a small smile.

Geta watched him carefully "You're tired, aren't you? All this war, conquering... All men need to rest now, and so do you." He placed a hand on his shoulder and led him through the room filled with guests "I can offer you something that will delight your senses. The highest quality company, beautiful and fresh, with firm breasts..." he laughed quietly.

"You are generous, my lord." Marcus nodded humbly "I would like to be home though. In a bed other than the one I had in the camp."

"Alone?"

He was saved from answering by the music that suddenly started and distracted the Emperor. Soon the man finished his wine and let the guests surround him. The party was in full swing, and Marcus eagerly noticed the dark sky outside the window. The thought that you were alone in his house haunted him.

This place was a mystery to you. Previously, you had spent most of your time in and out of temples, but mortal homes never interested you. You walked barefoot through the rooms, occasionally spotting the servants who were busy preparing to welcome their lord.

The young girl who had been assigned to you dutifully toddled after you, clearly confused by your behavior.

"My lady." she said as you circled the inner garden of the house once again. "My lady, wait. Perhaps I should draw you a bath? You must be tired after such a long journey."

"Bath?" you didn't take your eyes off the stone bust standing against the wall.

"Yes, my lady." the girl approached, clearly pleased that she had caught your attention. "We have prepared a room for you."

You finally looked at her. She was beautiful. Her skin was kissed by the sun, her eyes large and dark, and her brown hair, which she had braided in a simple way, fell down her back.

"What is your name?"

"Melitta, my lady." she curtsied slightly and lowered her gaze. You repeated her name quietly, then gave yours, which made a shy smile appear on her lips. You unexpectedly grabbed her hand. "Lead me, Melitta. I feel like I won't be free from you if I don't take this bath."

"Our lord is kind and gracious to us. Not like some other masters..." Melitta's soft voice surrounded you as her graceful and skillful hands washed your body. The bath was warm and stuffy, filled with the scent of incense and enveloped in the warm light of candles. "His return was long awaited by us."

"Have you been in his house for a long?"

"A few years." she replied quietly. "But I am grateful for every day. General Acacius is..."

"Where are you from?" you interrupted her, you saw the surprise written on her beautiful face.

"What do you mean, my lady?" she asked.

"How did you come to Rome? You are not from here, I can feel it."

Melitta lowered her gaze, reaching for the oils standing on the floor next to her. Although your question didn’t hurt her, she felt awkward.

"My lady, asking a slave something like that is inappropriate." she said quietly as if she wanted to discreetly draw your attention to your lack of manners "It doesn't matter where we're from, now we belong to General Acacius, to Rome."

You turned around so you could look into the girl's face. "For me you are a person. You have a name, a family, roots. Your work, and the work of people like you, create this world."

"But we are still slaves... I mean no more than...than..." she grabbed the bottle with the amber liquid inside "Than that! Not all of us are born free, my lady. Maybe in your world it's easier, but it's only a world of ideas."

You lowered your gaze. Melitta's words echoed in your head, but you knew she was right.

When you served your mistress, when you accompanied Minerva to her temples, or when you walked step by step behind Marcus - you never thought about how the Empire was built. To you all mortals were the same, too young, fragile, fleeting... Now you were one of them.

"Forgive me, please." You said quietly as Melitta helped you dress in clean, soft clothes. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me, my lady." She replied. "You noticed me."

It was late when he arrived at his estate. Cicadas were playing loudly in the garden, and the familiar rustle of sandals heralded the arrival of Antigonus, the steward of his house. The older man bowed low.

"General." He bowed low "It's good to see you in good health."

"I'm glad to see you too, Antigonus." Marcus replied, patting the man's shoulder "Is everything alright? How is our guest?"

"Everything has been prepared for your return, my lord. Melitta has taken care of your guest, taking her to her chamber."

The two set off down the dark corridors of the quiet house. "Oh, and she stayed there?" Marcus asked, feeling the corners of his mouth curl up, because he probably already knew the answer.

Antigonus sighed. "Your guest is very..." the man searched for the right word in his head "Curious." he said finally "But she's also beautiful and has a sharp mind. I had a hard time convincing her that she didn't have to help with the little chores in the garden. She seemed concerned."

"I guess. Don't worry, Antigonus. She's different from the ones we know, but she'll steal your heart."

"My lord."

The man noticed with concern that Marcus was heading towards where his bedroom and study were located. This worried him a little.

"If you wish to visit your guest, we've assigned her rooms on the other side of the house." he said.

The glow of the torch illuminated the General's tired face, but a smile was on his lips, "I think I'm where I should be. Good night, Antigonus." he replied and pushed the door open slightly.

The chamber was bathed in warm light, and the long shadow of a familiar figure was reflected on the wall. He noticed movement behind the delicate curtains covering his bed.

Gods, he would give anything to be able to immortalize the sight of you in some way. Every time his eyes looked at you, Marcus felt as if he was experiencing some indescribable miracle or grace. Even though you were already beyond his dream image, he still couldn't believe that a being so beautiful and extraordinary was within his reach.

You sat on his bed dressed in flowing robes that his servants had prepared for you. Around you were maps and other writings, you must have moved them there from his study. A small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows as you studied carefully what was before you, trying to understand it all.

"This is an unusual sight." he said quietly, and you flinched like a startled doe.

He emerged from the shadows and approached the bed. Your eyes followed his every step, a smile spreading across your lips as he finally stood before you. You sat back on your heels and rose slightly.

"Marcus..." his name flowed from between your lips like the sweetest song of praise.

He stroked your cheek, then leaned down to brush your sweet lips. "I thought I'd find you sleeping, not planning the expansion of your empire. Should I call you general or emperor now?" he said, chuckling.

"Call me whatever you want." You replied, taking his colossal hand in yours and kissing the back of it tenderly. "I saw this on your desk, I couldn't help myself."

"Curiosity can be dangerous, little bird. But tell me, please, what are you looking for there?"

Your gaze wandered back to the maps lying on the white sheets. Numerous lines intersected to form the borders of the country, the letters formed the names of cities and regions, but it meant nothing to you. You only saw that what was marked as the Empire was growing on each successive map.

"What's all this for?" you asked. "Why are you conquering more lands? Why are you killing each other? Our gods can be merciless, but you, humans, can be more terrible than them."

Warm fingers stroked your chin as Marcus considered your words. These thoughts had been haunting his mind for some time now. Did you know him that well?

"The Empire must be strong," he finally answered. "Our victories give it power and authority."

"They also give you new stomachs to fill. Meanwhile, you flood the fields with blood, you don't sow seeds for bread there."

He knew you were right. Gods! Marcus knew that perfectly well. He sat down next to you, and you greedily slid onto his lap. Your closeness gave him solace.

"The empire must grow to exist." You continued. "The beast must devour new victims to grow, and what if it doesn't find them anymore? What if it starts eating its own children?"

A grimace crossed his face. You saw the tiredness in his eyes, you didn't want to add to it, but only he was able to explain to you the world that you were now a part of.

"We have to believe that we are ruled by people who know how to prevent this from happening." He finally said.

"Do you believe in your words, Marcus?"

"I'm trying."

You took his face in your hands and placed your forehead against his. "I wish I could take away all your worries, my love. I wish I could find a better world for us."

He hummed quietly, his hands wandering over your back, sliding under the soft fabric wanting to feel the warmth and delicacy of your body.

"Now you are my world and I will defend it at all costs," he said quietly.

Your body tensed as your lips collided. It didn't take much force to push him onto the sheets, sharing a precious breath with him. You made love, pushing away from your thoughts everything that cast a shadow over your feelings.

It wasn't until later, when you were asleep, cuddled up to his side, his body free from the tension of the day, that Marcus still considered your words. The words you had spoken, the words that had filled his mind and heart for so long.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

@ashleyfilm @gothcsz @littlenicpascal @missladym1981 @axshadows @psychoenergy @sabsunflowergirl @pedrofan @heckzprince @hard-candy-writing @mynameisbaby9 @94namkooksworld @bbyanarchist

#pedro pascal #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius x reader #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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dwaekkilinos · 1 year ago

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savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a horde.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t horde unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the horde up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the horde. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the horde without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the horde up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the horde approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the horde to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the horde getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the horde, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The horde was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the horde following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the horde you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the horde was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The horde.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that horde and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that horde to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

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lovlidollie · 3 months ago

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⭑ 2. PUSHING DAISIES ; rafe cameron

series masterlist | previous | next

━━ CW ; drug consumption , barry enabling , angst .

there’s some things you just can’t medicate / it’s never enough / i don’t think you understand / all the things that you could have had ━━ pushing daises , flower face

the first time you found him at barry’s, you thought it was just a fluke. a choice born from an amalgamation of ward’s disapproval and constant dismissal of rafe, and the sheer stress of dealing with whatever the hell his sister was getting up to. you hadn’t seen that part of him before, the hungry, ravenous creature lurking beneath his skin. he was good at hiding his problems when it came to you. you’d dragged him out, hands trembling against his blank face as you’d told him that he was okay, that you’d help. you’d begged, made him promise that he wouldn’t do it again.

as you find yourself outside that godforsaken trailer weeks later, bitter december air biting at your cheeks, you’re reminded of the fact that rafe cameron is a liar and that you should have known better. the silhouette behind the fogged up window shows a body bent over lines that are more familiar to him than your face has been in days.

you hated being in there. hated the stench of the trailer, the humid warmth that never went away, and you hated the way barry’s lecherous gaze clung to you like smoke. he never bothered to hide it either, lazily manspreading into his rickety chair with a smug smirk. “rafe.” your voice cuts through the muffled bass of whatever trash is playing through barry’s ancient speakers. it’s sharp, shaking with anger and fear.

he’s on the couch, black shirt half unbuttoned with a sheen of sweat over his skin, rolled up bill pinched between his fingers. he doesn’t even react to your presence. rafe’s hands tremble as he goes to wipe his nose, trying to compose himself as if you hadn’t seen it all before. as if the white dust smudged across the coffee table wasn’t proof enough.

you don’t even wait for him to speak, to garble out half-assed excuses. “i can’t do this anymore,” your voice cracks on the last word, tears threatening to spill from your waterline.

“do what?” his words are slurred, but the confusion in his eyes is real. rafe tilts his head, greasy bangs falling across his face, like a child hearing something they can’t quite comprehend. “this. us,” you press your lips together, fists shaking at your sides. “you could have so much more than this. so much more. you’re throwing away everything, your friends, your family — me. you don’t belong here, ray.”

your gaze flickers to barry, who chuckles low in his throat. “wastin’ y’breath, sweetheart,” he drawls, tone full of condescension. “y’boy’s right where he wants t’be.”

“shut the fuck up, barry!” you snap harshly, unable to stop the venomous outburst. rafe’s head lolls back against the couch, eyes fluttering and eyebrows furrowing. “rafe, please. just — jus’ come back. we can get you help, proper help, ‘n it can all go back to normal,” you plead with him, taking another step towards him. you try not to think about how many chances you’ve already given him, how you’ve forgiven him over and over again.

his lids peel open, and for a moment he just stares at you, once bright blue eyes now dim and glassy and dead. you start to wonder if he even heard you, but then he shifts. his hand twitches on his lap, as if he wants to reach for you but just doesn’t have the strength. your heart flutters with hope, but rafe shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting at his lips.

“go home, baby,” he whispers with finality. “y’can’t save me.”

just like that, the fight drains out of you and the hope drips from the cavity in your chest. a tear falls down the slope of your cheek when you realise that this was the fate rafe was enslaving himself to. you turn on your heel and walk out, vision blurry and a buzz in your ears. the door slams shut behind you as barry’s terrible laugh echoes and haunts you into the night.

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fushiguruuzzzz · 5 months ago

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i ⊹ ࣪ ˖ familiar faces

Series mlist

Tags — short-ish chapter, more of an introduction to the character dynamic (yearning final bosses), let me know if I missed anything !

Words — 0.75k

The moment you took a step onto the orange littered, leafy concrete of the sidewalk, it was as if a gust of air blew past you and took everything you were feeling with it. The stains of tears left on your cheeks, the crease between your brows that never seemed to go away even in the midst of laughter and joy, you were freed of all of it. The chilly air of the bustling campus ghosted over you like a healing remedy, reminding you of where you were. You were exactly where you wanted to be, where you worked to be from the moment you knew how to read.

Glancing around, you were met with the sight of many students in the same situation as you. Or, you could only assume so, those arriving by their lonesome, faint hints of grief for their homes lingering around them. But you knew it was okay, you hoped they did too. Because you’d finally gotten to escape, to get here, to live life akin to theirs and hope it was worth it. Hope. You seemed to be using that word rather often lately.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your philosophical daze. Pulling the device from the pocket of your pants, you couldn’t help the smile that cracked over your face. First of the day.

You supposed it was time to get moving, then. They were right, dark clouds were beginning to creep into the edges of the sky, the air holding a certain dampness that only appeared when anticipating showers. Lugging the all too large suitcase from your trunk, you decided that the rest could be left for a clearer day’s time. It wasn’t all too much, simply decor and things to add a familiar comfort to the dorm you shared with Maki. It wasn’t anything essential, well, not technically. Things that could wait, things that were worth the patience.

And as you lugged that same big suitcase down the sidewalk, approaching the looming, open doors of the residence hall, you could feel a pair of eyes on you. They bore into you, burning through the fabric of your sweater and into your soul. You halted your movements to turn, glancing around the crowds of people in search of the mystery who had been watching you. Nothing. You must have been imagining things, then.

But as you turned back to your path, you were met with the sight of a familiar head of black, spiky hair. It was but a fleeting moment, disappearing behind the clumps of people crowding the yard. You’d recognize him anywhere, even if it had been nearly half a decade. Or maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you were being too hopeful, the presence of your past lingering in your peripheral. That wasn’t what this was supposed to be, this was supposed to be new. Fresh. So you turned back, dragging both yourself and your belongings up the stairs and through the doors you’d anticipated for far too long.

Megumi set his phone down, letting out a frustrated huff of air. He didn’t like it, not at all. He didn’t like that feeling in the pit of his chest that formed when he saw but a glimpse of your face, the way his eyes had lingered without his intention. The way that every time he thought he saw you within a crowd, he was also met with memories. Memories he tried to let go of, ones that haunted him in the midst of night. He always wondered about you, if you were okay. If someone had cared for you like you had for him, if he’d ever see you again. But he’d never dare to voice those thoughts, barely even to himself.

It wasn’t you, he told himself. That was a silly thought. To think that after not seeing you since your middle school graduation, he’d just so happen to see you again on his first day of university. The more he thought about it, though, it wasn’t so odd. It was one of the better universities in the area, mostly. He remembered that you loved things like English and History and such, which happened to be particularly popular at the school. Just maybe, maybe he would let a sliver of hope creep into the edges of his heart. Just maybe. But not now, not until something more logical came up, at the very least a full view of your face. For now he’d remain in denial, that sliver of hope pushed into the back of his mind out of fear. Out of the fear that is he let it creep into his heart, it’d pierce it.

Short chap this time, more an intro that a chapter imo

Been written for a few days, part two is already done methinks

First couple chapters are likely just gonna be information dumps and yearning I’m ngl to u 😭🙏

Megumi getting called out for his stalking (and his terrible lying) will never be unfunny to me

Taglist !¡ —

@1l-ynn @meowymeowbreow @kiss-my-asscheeks @starrysho @missunrise @good-mourning0 @gumims

#megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk smau #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #megumi x you #megumi fluff #jjk x reader #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 year ago

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@martianworder asked me about this on my Forged in the Dark post, so here we go!

Clocks

So Clocks have been a tool that have been used before and outside of Blades in the Dark, but BitD was where I think they were made really popular.

Golem Clocks designed by cmartins on Itch.io

For all intents and purposes, a Clock is just a track that you fill, but in some cases it's preferred over a track because it fills less space, and it's easy to just draw a clock on a piece of paper to help you keep track of something as you play.

A Clock can be more than just a track. It can be a countdown, a timer, or a representation of a person or faction's goals. The larger the Clock, the bigger task it is. Here are some examples of how you could use them.

A Healing project clock from Blades in the Dark.

A player could have a project Clock that they fill over the course of many sessions. Perhaps they want to research a cure for a vampire virus that is threatening a loved one. The GM would ask them to make a research roll every downtime, and how successful they are indicates how many slices they fill - effectively, how much progress they make towards finding a cure.

Rebellion and Sedition Clocks for Brinkwood: Blood of Tyrants.

A play group might use a Clock to track a common goal, such as winning over a number of anarchists to help take down a mega-corporation. If this is a campaign-long goal, you might use a series of linked clocks to represent the jailbreak you need to assist before you can win over a computer hacker, and then the massive hacking project you need to support before you can overwhelm the corpo servers.

Faction Clocks from Scum & Villainy.

A GM might use a Clock to track the work a Faction makes towards their goal. Every downtime section, they GM might roll to see how successful the Faction is, or simply tick one slice of the clock if the Faction has no reason not to be able to do what they want. If the Faction is allowed to work unimpeded by the PC's, they might eventually do something that changes the world around them, for better or worse.

Mission Clock from External Containment Bureau and Doomsday Clock from Apocalypse Keys.

Clocks might also be used as a timer, to indicate when something terrible might happen, or when the group's time is up. This might be the amount of time before a murderer next strikes, before the haunted house claims another victim, or before the world begins to end. In some games, specific points in the clock (such as halfway, or a quarter of the way through) may trigger special events that give the PC's more information, or remind the group that the pressure is really on.

Clocks for Protect the Child.

All in all, Clocks are a great visual tool to help you and your game group keep track of what's going on in the fiction, and it can also help you keep track of a number of narrative threads in a fairly condensed space. Even if they're not built into the game you're currently running or playing, I think they're a fairly easy addition, and can certainly help with bookkeeping!

#mint speaks #clocks #forged in the dark #indie ttrpgs #dnd #tabletop games #asks

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ladylokianna · 3 months ago

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My favorite hello, my hardest goodbye

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader (use of Y/N). Aegon is involved (in a good way).

Warnings: okay, what can i say... angst for first instance. The one shot contains mention of blood, trauma, child death, torture and violence. Please don't continue if that's uncomfortable for you, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Ok, i have to admit that the whole idea of this one-shot was totally different in the beginning: it started out angsty with the what if? in which Blood & Cheese kill Aemond's son and not Aegon's, and i had also sketched out something more angsty, but i left it out because i didn't want to make my beloved boy suffer more than he had to. So, that draft posted a few days ago following a request i developed it better and out came a tragicomic piece, with Aegon as a master of torture helping his sister–in–law vent against her son's murderer.

Ah, i'd like to specify one more thing: the relationship between the Targtower siblings is not based on the TV series, i prefer to think of them as any pair of brothers, sometimes quarrelsome, capable of teasing each other (raise your hand if you haven't teased your brother/sister at least once in your life, come on) but absolutely willing to have each other's back.

Word count: 2798.

English is not my first language, please be kind.

It always started like that, with your breathing slowly becoming shallow and scattered, with your hands moving quickly trying to grab –or stop– something. Aemond notices immediately, as soon as he hears your breathing change suddenly in the middle of the night: one minute you are sleeping relatively peacefully, the next you are breathing as if you were drowning. He knows that shortly afterwards will also come the shakes and screams, a witness that that night continues to haunt you.

"There is nothing at all you can do about?"

Orwyle shook his head, contrite: there was nothing that could soothe the mental pain as poppy milk did to the physical one.

It was not the same pain.

Aemond shifts more towards you, slipping an arm under your neck and one around your waist, drawing you to himself just in time, before you could gesture in your sleep, lest you hurt yourself, whimpering as if what you are dreaming about you were re-experiencing again, in that very moment.

"Y/N?" he whispers as you start to cry, leaving him undecided on what to do. You call out for him several times in your sleep, your voice increasingly full of anguish. "I'm here!"

He realises he has no idea what to do, whether to wake you up or to leave you to sleep, waiting for the nightmare to fade on its own: Orwyle has recommended that he should not force you to wake up, but at the same time he cannot watch you suffer without doing anything to help you.

You call out to him once more, frightened, and this time he sees you laying a hand on your heart, your breathing increasingly shaky, as if you were ranting.

The hell with it.

He sits up and takes you back into his arms, cradling you like he used to do with your son.

"Y/N, wake up. It's all right, i'm here!" he tells you. "I know you can hear me, wake up!"

You blurt out something he can't understand and open your eyes wide, glassy, almost lifeless. He grabs your shoulder, shouting your name and shaking you out of your sleep. You finally wake up after so many interminable seconds, with a gasp that reminds him of a person who has been underwater too long and resurfaces a few moments before the end: your eyes return awake and bright, your heartbeat almost regular.

His own, much less so.

"Aem?"

Full of relief, he strokes your head, letting go a sigh.

"Tell me."

"Blood, Aem. It's everywhere. I can't get it off of my hands." you say, with an hoarse voice.

Its metallic stench seeps into your nostrils, forcing you to hold your breath and turn to him, sinking your nose into his tunic: one more second of that smell and you throw up, you're sure.

He takes your hand in his and shows it to you.

"Nothing's there, look." he tells you. "Look at me: it's all gone, it was a nightmare."

You look around, discovering that you are not in your son's room, but in yours, patrolled day and night by guards. You are safe.

You hear Aemond respond to Ser Criston, ordering him something you cannot understand, as flashes of the nightmare that tortures you since that night return to your mind.

"Oh gods, again?"

"Yes, and i should have consulted the maesters much earlier, because it gets worse every time. I'm so afraid you would never wake up again."

The bandage on your arm is still in place, your nightgown is still pristine white and your hands are clean. You shove your face into Aemond's chest, sighing a plea.

"No more, Gods, please, no more."

"I'll send for Orwyle."

"No, please, i'm not going to chug another one of his nasty sleeping concoctions... and i don't want to be considered crazy."

"We are two grieving parents, no one would dare think that."

You sigh. Every court holds a nest of vipers, and yours is no exception.

"Not in our presence, Aem, that's for sure. But i can assure you they speak widely about us. People's tongues can be far sharper than their swords." you reply. "I'm doing everything i can to move on even though it may seem insensitive from me, but it's so hard."

"I would never think that." he replies.

"You wouldn't, but i hear the voices of the whole court behind my back, to them i am now the crazy, childless mother and..." and something you cannot repeat, not in front of Aemond.

"Who said that?"

"Some women, i don't really remember who, nevermind." you try to cut it short, aware that you already talked too much and especially aware of what Aemond might do if he found out who was responsible for those rumours.

"And they were women amongst noble women or the servants?"

"You can punish them, but, you will not stop those voices, you know how it is. I just have to wait for their quacking to move on to the next topic, until then i will resist. It's nothing, really."

He returns your embrace, but deep inside you know he is already thinking about what to do to flush out whoever started the rumours and you also know how damn difficult it is to change his mind if something directly affects you: once he has set his focus to something, nothing can stop him.

"I almost forgot to tell you that Helaena tried to distract me, she helped me with a new embroidery and showed me some insects i'd never seen before, you know? I love strolling with her and the twins in the gardens, but i have a strange feeling in my stomach since it happened, like i have a knot i can't untie. I feel like i'm burning up inside and i don't know what to do." you murmur. "And in all this i have to ask for your forgiveness: i haven't asked yet how are you doing, i'm selfish."

His breath quivers a little before he answers you.

"I live with the memory of that night: i should have been here instead of patrolling King's Landing with Vhagar. They wanted me, and they took our son. You want to know how i come to terms with what happened? I spend my mornings in the dungeons, executing the death-row prisoners... my sword has never seen so much blood since it was forged."

".... and does it work?"

"Not in the way i would like. When i plunge my sword into their flesh i imagine sinking it into Daemon's throat." explains. "Even if he deserves a far worse death for what he has done."

Aemond didn't tell you that he still see every little detail. The rough stitches around your son's neck, his corpse, his bed soaked in blood.

You stroke his cheek understandingly, like you do every time you hear him crying in the safe space of your bed.

"I miss our little boy."

"I know. I would like to have another child, i know i owe you one but i'm not ready yet."

"Listen, you owe me nothing. If more children will come, fine. I will not put pressure on you, i'm already happy to still have you here. Do you understand what i mean? Don't get me wrong, i loved our son, i really did, and i mourn him every day, but to me you're the most important person i have."

As he is for you. You smile lovingly, but suddenly your gaze changes.

"I want them dead. Both of them. They must suffer. I must see their blood spill onto the ground. Maybe then i will begin to find peace."

He looks at you a little, before clearing his throat.

"I'll help you get dressed." he explains. "I'll take you with me to the dungeons."

Aegon greets you with a wide smile, in his own reassuring way, amazed to find you there.

"Imagine the uproar if our mother found out."

"It's either this or me burning the whole realm to the ground."

"Dragonstone alone would be enough... imagine burning the whole castle down with those bastards inside them."

"Don't tempt me. You told me you would do anything to ease the anger i feel, and you're still doing it." Aemond says. "Now i ask you to do the same thing for Y/N. You know to whom i refer."

"I want those two." you murmur.

"Yes, there were two, but i already had one hanged." Aegon explains. "I had all the fucking rat-catchers hanged. But if you wish, i will give orders for their families to die as well: all i need is your yes, and within an hour i will bring you the heads of their children."

That offer goes straight to your brain, piercing it like a dart and insinuating a dangerous temptation. It is frightening how you even allow yourself to think about it, to indulge in the idea of inflicting the same pain on other women, like yourself wives, sisters, daughters, mothers. Probably the same women you saw during the funeral procession, the ones who threw flowers at your son, who wept as you passed by and cursed the name of Rhaenyra, women who were already living under difficult conditions. But then, you think back to all the blood spilled that night, the blood that had soaked your hands and your son's tunic, the blood that dripped down from the wound they had inflicted on your arm, in a vain and desperate attempt to save your child.

You think back to Aemond and his burning guilt, to the way he threw that little tunic into the fireplace, to the way he clutched your hand when he ordered Vhagar to light the funeral pyre, to his desperate weeping smothered against your shoulder after the funeral when, embraced in the comforting privacy of your rooms, you could no longer tell who was consoling whom.

You can't.

Considering how hard you struggled to change Aemond's mind, when, lost in the pain of both of you, he had been on the verge of burning down the whole town.

"And once we've set everyone on fire, what are we going to do, Aemond?"

You shake your head, and the answer that rose to your lips to Aegon's question was the same one you gave Aemond.

"No. Smallfolk of King's Landing are not to blame, and killing their children will not bring mine back." you look instinctively at Aemond, standing next to you, with the awareness that they would both only need a nod from you, and place your hand on his chest. "Responsibles must die, but there are women and men out there already struggling every single day to survive with their own problems without having to pay for ours as well. Don't do anything more against the poor people, Aegon, please. Aemond, i beg you."

He scrutinises you attentively, and cannot ignore your eyes glazed with tears.

"If that is what you wish, so be it." he replies in a whisper, rubbing your hand with his own. "I won't do anything you don't want."

"You are far too generous, my lady." Aegon finally sighs. He leads you out of the guards' cabin, towards an isolated cell where Aemond unsheathes his sword, and the prisoner winces, knowing full well what is about to happen: he has heard the screams of the other inmates, the sinister sound of that sword, and the precise and lethal manner in which the prince uses it. He knows that Aemond shows no mercy, and that that rage will now fall upon him.

"I don't want to suffer." he whimpers, looking at the blade: Aemond has a habit of twisting it in the throat of the unfortunate, he has heard so many choke like that, in their blood, with that blade buried in their flesh.

"He is not going to execute you." Aegon replies, smiling. "It all depends on her."

He remembers you well, he remembers your voice, your face transfigured by horror, he remembers that night as much as you do.

"Please..." he begs, and after this, you can smell the stingy smell of the urine that dampens his filthy trousers.

"Not yet, Aem. I might need it later." you say, declining his sword.

"Oh, fuck." Aemond mutters, catching a glimpse of the long wooden plank on which a varied array of tools, lined up in religious order, make an eerie display: he certainly didn't plan for something like this.

"You don't like it, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't like it too."

Aegon shows you a rack with a few weapons, some too heavy for you, while others useless for the purpose, carefully explaining what each was for and what damage they could inflict.

Aemond remains aloof, focused on you, ready to take you back to your shared rooms at the slightest sign of discomfort.

"Let's make it simple before someone here decides to use something on me. May i suggest this spiked mace? Simple yet effective, you'll see. Here, take it. Joints first: ankles, knees, elbows... and don't forget wrists. Then, the small bones like those of feet and hands. Though, be careful not to hit vital points first or you'll miss all the fun. When you'll have enough you can decide whether to finish him or letting Vhagar do it, okay? It's up to you." says Aegon.

"Vhagar doesn't eat shit." protests Aemond, looking at the prisoner.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." observes Criston Cole in a barely audible whisper, watching you weigh the spiked mace in your hands, looking for the best grip on the handle. It's heavy, way more heavier than Aemond's sword.

"Keep your hands more apart on the handle or you will end up hurting yourself. Good, like this."

"Your Grace, you know she is so out of her she won't be able to kill him on the first blow, right?"

"Of course i do. That's the beauty of it: Vhagar will be a relief in comparison to her rage."

Your first blow hits the prisoner's left knee, smashing it with a loud grunt: his scream leaves you wanting to hit harder. Both Aemond and Aegon take a step back, letting you do what it pleases you without saying a word to stop you.

There's no turning back now. Not that you want it.

They look at you in silence for a few minutes in the disturbing atmosphere of the cell, a silence interrupted only by your grunts and the prisoner's screams, Aegon with a certain smile on his lips, Aemond with a look somewhere between worried and surprised, as if he found impossible that a woman like you, capable of compassion and love, the same woman who birthed your son and whom he watches playing with his nephews, could be the same fury that is mangling a man three times your size.

"You know Aemond, contrary to what you think, i also used to make a few trips to the library."

"In between wanking? Amazing."

Aegon ignored his teasing, focusing on another blow you're about to inflict on the prisoner's lower limbs.

"Hey hey hey... enough with the knees, honey, may i suggest you the shoulders, now? ...great, right there, that's it... see how the mace smashed the joint? Brilliant, isn't it? I may not have studied philosophy and history, brother, but you have no idea how many books banned by our Septon i have read. I'm sure that book about torture might interest you too."

"I'm not fond to torture, for too much can be counterproductive: once one gets used to pain, the whole thing became pointless. Hence i have to admit sometimes is quite useful."

"If this is her way of not going mad, let her. Let her vent."

A metallic clung interrupts them both: you have dropped the mace to the ground, exhausted, after inflicting one last blow. You look at what remains of the murderer's head with a soft "what the hell? " and wonder at what point in your murderous outburst he is dead, and how many blows you have inflicted on his corpse.

"Holy shit, Y/N." Aegon says looking at you almost covered in blood, like the stone floor and the wall behind the corpse strewn with human remains, blood and cerebral matter. "Oh wow. Look at it, it was awesome."

"Aem?"

"Yes darling?"

"I think i won't need the sword after all. Thank you, by the way." you say. "I'm done."

"Well sure, there's nothing more left to hit, sweetie. We're so proud of you." Aegon praise you, with glowing eyes. The dungeons are now more like a slaughterhouse than a prison, but you don't mind it. "Fine Aem, got it: never piss off your wife."

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katiascraft · 7 days ago

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- chapter seven - the worst part (is coming back) - chapter seven -

✐ᝰ "You knew all too well i was right where you left me" | CL16 ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊

parings: retired!charles leclerc x writer!ex!reader

chapter summary: one interview could change it all, and that was something that even y/n didn't expect. but finally franco and y/n talk things through and the worst thing that could happen, it will finally happen.

blog masterlist - series masterlist - series spotify playlist

The monaco rain was pouring on your ceiling and balcony floor. You were seated in front of your balcony window. Yes, you were crying and you thought that lately that was the only thing you could do (and do well). Your tea cup in your hands is already cold because you didn’t even take a sip. You just needed something warm to feel something. And yes, life’s been rough for you since Charles walked out that afternoon. That day after you agreed to talk but two weeks have passed by and no single word was heard from him. Or you either.

But thoughts were widely rambling in your head not letting you sleep alright every night since then. You wondered if he thought about you the same way you did these whole 10 years of your life. If he also saw you in each traffic light, in every corner of street. If he still has your clothes in his closet.if he still eats ice cream after lunch everyday. If when he became world champion he thought of you being there by his side just like you promised. You knew he was with alexandra. You thought she was so opposite to you, so different and so much better. You thought it was pure logic that he would prefer her over you. She even seemed to be more interesting and having so much more to offer him than you could ever think of.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why not me? Why now? Why? Why? Why? Why?

You felt like you were driving yourself insane and yes, of course you would stop overthinking this way if you just called him and talked but you couldn’t. Just thinking about it makes you feel cold like ice. You were terrified. You didn’t want to be fooled again or lied to or laughed at. But at the same time you wanted to believe this time it would be different. Now you’re grown ups with pretty successful lives. Apparently everything is figured out. Just apparently. Because the memories of what you once were still haunt you every time you close your eyes. They came around every time you started to feel happy, or met someone, or anything. He was still there everywhere, everytime.

Why do I have to remember it all too well?

And it was all way too much that you are in a writer’s block. Not a single word could be out of your head into the paper for your new novel. It was just him. And him. And him again.

Charles. Charles. Charles. Charles. Charles.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Through your glass balcony window you could see how carlos’ pool was overflowing because of the heavy rain pouring into the world. Or your world. Or your soul. You were still mad at him. He was an asshole and he didn’t even say sorry. And you kind of hated him now. You don’t remember him back when you went to see Charles at karting. You remembered Max and Alex and George and lando… but not him. However, you did recognize him from his time in Ferrari with charles. It was all over Monaco when he became champion. And yes, you didn’t like to admit but you knew way too much about his racing career. You stuck to it because that was the only way you thought you could still have him. The only way that you could feel him close as you used to. Although it was just a coping mechanism of your brain to overcome the heartbreak.

A thunder took you out of your head making you realize that you needed to end up packing. In two days you travel to London again but this time it was for business purposes. You had your cast already so you needed to have important talks with the production company taking care of the movie of your book. You were really excited even with this pain you felt. And of course, you would go to a very popular tik tok podcast that interviewed modern bestsellers writers.so big things and great things for you professional life.

But you also would like to talk with franco. There was still so much tension and you wanted to apologize. Franco was very important to you. He was not only your best friend but he helped you through so much. He was really caring and gentle and patient. And you shared so many hobbies and sense of humor and things. It was really nice to have met him by chance. Destiny was really considerate with you for that, you thought. And no, you didn't talk about what happened. You didn't talk at all actually. Yes, you had a few social media interactions trying to be ‘funny’ but you knew you had hurt him. You didn’t like to admit that either but you know you did and that you needed to talk to him as soon as possible. You didn’t like to be like this. Your friends from London have told you a few things about how he felt because he is also really close to them.

He said he felt used and you didn’t care about him and his feelings.

And you knew that was not true but you understood really well why he felt like that because if it had happened to you, you could have felt even worse.

You didn’t realize that while you were thinking you just stared at carlos’ house and it was very inconvenient for you, he got out to his gallery and saw you there staring. So he just stared at you staring. And so you both stared.

Great. Now he will think i’m a weirdo and a creep.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

She should’ve been there. She really should’ve. But charles fucked it up. She hated him now. He knew it. And he also knew he deserved it.

He should’ve been there. He should’ve been there through it all. But he fucked it up. And that was the moment he knew it was not coming back.

And that was the worst part.

It didn’t matter how much he would've loved to go back in time and change it all. It was impossible and then he was trapped in a life he created but he didn’t like. He played along for so many years saying ‘i love you’ when he didn’t mean it. Everything was real but his dreams and his thoughts. When she was there with him and all of the life he had dreamed of together. But then they were just dreams.

He was tired of regretting so many things he did in life just for being stupid. For not knowing what he wanted. For not wanting to hurt anyone that he forgot that what he felt mattered even more. He was really insecure. He was a people pleaser. He wanted to make everyone happy, satisfy them all.

So he broke her like all the promises he made.

So he chose everyone else except her. And he chose to break her rather than to save her. And still 10 years apart from that decision, he still hates himself for that.

Because she was the only real thing he had. But he chose to sacrifice her to keep the fake fantasy alive.

What an idiot.

After that night. He had a little hope that maybe you would really want to talk to him. But two weeks have passed by and he was starting to believe you wanting to run away from him rather than see his face. He didn’t blame you for it. He would do the same in your shoes.

His therapy sessions were all about you. And a lot of crying. He was drowning in his regrets. He couldn’t sleep. All he could see was you in your pajamas. Your smile in the morning.

Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. And your sweet tone.

How could he function as a normal human being after that night? Maybe this is what he deserved. He deserved to be broken because of you. It was the karma tracking him.

“Hey, cha, are you ready to go? Pierre is already there, a miracle "Arthur took him out of his head.

“Oh wow, that’s why the sky is falling i guess” he joked in response because pierre it’s always late. This is pretty unusual. “I’ll put my trainers on and then we can go”

“Good. Carlos is not going” then Arthur said from the living room of charles’ apartment.

“I bet he’s with rebecca!” he shouted from his bedroom deciding which pair of trainers would look better with his back outfit.

It was paddle night with friends. And he was thankful. Without them life would be unbearable.

⋆˚࿔ was that a sign? 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

bestsellerunpluggedthepod made a post

liked by yourusername, francolapinto, charlesleclerc and 13,266 other users

bestsellerunpluggedthepod: for this week episode we have the best-seller author of "all too well" @/yourusername! we are so thrilled for this one! join us to know everything behind the inspiration of her novel, how it was like to write it, a new book on its way, all too well the movie and so much more secrets! it's already out on spotify and on our youtube channel. link in bio 💋 (yes, we fell in love with her too) did you read it? tell us in the comments!

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yourusername: was a pleasure girls! thank you so much for inviting me <3

⤷ bestsellerunpluggedthepod: our pleasure queen <3

⤷ francolapinto: didn’t got the text yet

⤷ user99: oh god he still is the all rizz kid

user1: guys I loved it! y/n such an introspected being. It was a pleasure listening to her!

user88: I read her book and now it makes so much sense why it is so good. Y/n does really care a lot bout feelings. Amazing 🩵

user2865: anyone will talk about WHY leclercs are in the likes?

⤷ user012: we’ve been suspecting this for MONTHS idk why they are so into y/n’s stuff

⤷ user2: yeah it is really weird

⤷ user987: why can’t boys like romance novels?

⤷ user912: we are not saying they can’t like romance novels but like it is suss how active they are about anything related to y/n

user773: this episode was really inspiring! Such a great writer with a great process thinking! Y/n seems to be really sweet

user1883: I need her to join the pod. She was so sweet, serious and funny at the same time!

arthurleclerc: such a great writer and and even more amazing human being

⤷ user772: how do you know that sir 🤨

⤷ user27633: they are both from Monaco maybe they shared school????!

⤷ user542: I was one of Arthur’s classmates and I’ve never seen this girl except for that one time at the go karts. She was with Charles.

⤷ user67: wait WHAT

⤷ user871: PLOT TWIST

⤷ user816: is it too far to say that maybe Charles is THAT ex

⤷ user9765: but they were like romantically involved or what?

⤷ user542: I think they were together. I don’t remember much, we were kids. I think I was like 15. We were all teenagers back then. I think it was even before he started his f1 career. And I don’t remember seeing her on his alpha romeo days either.

⤷ user222: why are we believing a stranger????

⤷ user874: @/f1gossipgirl do your thing

⋆˚࿔ @/charlesleclerc started following you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Interview transcription

Q: Welcome to a new episode in your favorite booktok podcast! the best-seller unplugged podcast! We are excited to be here in the company of one of the most successful writers in recent years. She is the author of the “all too well” novel that is trendy on tiktok right now and it has been for a while now, right? She is 32 years old and was born in England but raised in Monaco since she was 3 years old. She does not only write best sellers but also is an artist! Please, give a round of applause to the super star of books: y/n!

y/n. Oh my god! Thank you guys! I’m so excited to be here. Thank you for inviting me.

(...)

Q: so… i think it's time to get into the important stuff people wanna actually know. What inspired you to write all too well?

y/n: you may think this is crazy but actually you’re the first onever to ask me that. I think it’s not a surprise if i say it was the heartbreak i felt after my only long term relationship ended and i needed somewhere to pour out all of the pain i was in to be honest.

Q: wow. You’re even poetic with words! Do you wanna go into it?

y/n. Yeah, no problem. Like I'm used to talking about it in therapy so this is no difference.

Q: except that thousands will hear it.

y/n. I really don't care anymore.

Q: Okay, so, do you wanna talk a bit more about that relationship and what things you used in the book? If it isn't compromising.

y/n. Oh no it's okay. I didn’t see him anymore after he broke up with me so… that relationship was really important to me but not only because it was my first ever real relationship and like all of my first times romantically speaking. He was like the only real friend I had. I come from a broken family. My dad died when I was a child and then mom died because she was ill and then all of my siblings moved countries and I was all alone at 18. The only one I had was him and his family. But like any man in a century,he invited me to a date or like I thought it was a date and there at our favorite restaurant he said he had met another person and left me there crying and full of questions.

Q: how many years did you date?

y/n: Almost 6.

Q: Oh wow. That's an eternity with someone and he did that? Insane but not surprised.

y/n. Yeah, right? It was like the worst thing someone could have ever done to me.

Q: How does that make you feel?

y/n: I think it was not only confusing and hurt but it also destroyed my self esteem. Like, he started dating this girl who was like the opposite of me in looks. And he seemed happy. I think that was the worst part. Seeing him happy and moving on by night and I was feeling stuck there in that restaurant with his words in my head playing on and on. That feeling of not being able to understand why or how it happened because there were no signs at all like he was still treating me nice and stuff. And all of it just made me go insane as any writer and that’s where all the inspiration came from. I just wanted to imagine he was reeling the way I was. I wanted it to be real, that he would come back and find me and say sorry and fix everything. Fix me, actually. But not surprised he didn’t. That’s what all too well means to me. It reminds me of all of that. How I stayed with all of the love I can offer in my hands and having no idea what to do with it anymore. It's not only pain but also desperation.

Q: like your reality is broken.

y/n: Exactly because what i once believed was real then in just a second and a matter of four words, it doesn’t exist anymore. It was all a lie. You not only lose yourself but also your whole life is gone. What you were with that person there, the dynamic, the routine, all of the dreams you had for the future, trips, plans, everything is gone. It’s like waking up to another reality.

Q: Yeah, exactly. Your soul is gone too. Like, you would no longer be that person, like you also lose yourself. Have you ever seen him again?

y/n: I did recently, actually.

Q: oh we wanna know all the tea, please!

y/n. I think there isn't any tea or not so much of it. I bumped into him a few weeks ago at an ice cream shop. It has been 10 years since that day I told you about. But that was it.

Q: Oh my god! Tell us more. Was he destroyed? He must be so ugly for what he did to you.

y/n: oh no he didn’t look disgusting. I wish he did. But he was as handsome as he used to be. I would say even more handsome. But wore the same perfume. We didn’t talk much though, fortunately.

Q: You seem a bit smiley about it. Would you consider forgiving him?

y/n: i don’t know. I think that’s something I didn't write in the book. In my perspective, she didn’t deserve to go back to that place where she was destroyed and betrayed. And I would like to think like that about myself but I don't know where my head is yet. My friends will actually hit me after hearing this of course but I also believe people can learn from their mistakes. That they can change and grow and that they can regret wrong things they’ve done. I believe in second chances sometimes. I mean, when all of this happened we were kids still, i think i was 22 and he was 25. He had a very demanding career. He had a status to maintain. I was a simple student with no family and a lot of trumas to work on. We were immature. So, maybe there can be a second chance. Truth is he is the love of my life. I didn’t love anyone like I loved him ever again. And I'm sure I won't either. That kind of love it’s for him only. It may be weird or sad to say it but it is and I'm not mad about it. One thing I've learnt is to be resilient and forgiving myself. Understand the context of it all. So yeah, I would try again with him if there is a possibility and understanding the context and the moment which is very important. Actually that’s what my next book will be about.

Q: coming back to your ex?

y/n: Resilience and healing. I think humans are very complex. there’s no such thing as black or white. We are full of greys and second chances should exist, right?I think it’s important to listen to ourselves but also listen to others too. Life is about that balance. The good and bad. The happy and sad. And in the middle of it all we can come and go again and again. We deserve to have a chance to make things right the second time. I committed a lot of mistakes and i would have loved to have another chance to show how much i didn’t mean it or that i really fucked it up. I know the world is full of bad, evil people. But there’s also people that are good, really good by heart but just don’t know how to communicate or make it better or just make good decisions. We can commit mistakes and regret them. And as that makes us who we are, I don't think mistakes should define the whole person. And that’s where my next book is heading into.

(...)

Q: What is it like to be friends with Formula One champion Franco Colapinto? I’ve heard he is having a good time.

y/n: oh he sure is! To be honest it’s just a normal friendship, we are really close.

Q: fans want you together!

y/n: i know but we are just friends and we’ve been for the longest time now.

Q: Then maybe I could ask you for his number?

y/n: for sure!

Q: Are you friends with any other driver?

y/n: not actually. I know a few because they are friends with Franco but that’s it. I’ve never been to a GP. That was my goal this year.

Q: never?! Girl you’re missing out!

y/n: i know!

(...)

Q: Can we talk about the movie?

y/n: of course.

Q: cast is already selected?

y/n: Yes but I can't say anything about it. We have a director, producer and the cast! I'm so excited. I can say people would love it! I'm obsessed with it. I feel really honored that my book is gonna be a movie. It feels surreal. Oh but there is one thing i can say, it will drop autumn 2026!

Q: Oh my god! So production is starting soon?

y/n: it's about to finish. Filming starts in september. Surprise! I hope the paparazzi don't spoil anything!

(...)

End of transcription

⋆˚࿔ 48 hours earlier 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The rain didn’t stop when you got into the plane. Because when you got out of it in Heathrow airport the weather was the same but you weren’t surprised. That’s london. Franco was going to pick you up from it so you sent him a text ‘finally here’. You were also going to stay at his house because you would only be here for 5 days. And also, you have to talk. Be adults. And normal human beings. It’s been like a month and a half or maybe already two months, time wasn’t your thing. It passed you by really fast in your opinion.

‘I’m here’ he texted back like a minute after and sent a pic behind the taxis’ stop. You sighed and covered yourself with your coat and just ran as you could carrying your bag. Luckily he wasn’t that far away waiting dry and safe inside his mercedes truck. You got in as fast as you could feeling relief that you had a ceiling above.

‘Worst weather day of the year you chose to come” he said funnily and you rolled your eyes.

“I didn’t choose it. It’s work matters” you defended yourself a bit annoyed. He noticed of course so he just smiled and started driving to his house. The rain was heavy so he had to drive slowly. You felt uncomfortable in that silence pretty fast. He also noticed that so he turned on the radio, bizarrap was playing from his phone. That shakira song about her ex. It’s dope but you weren’t in the mood.

“I’m sorry” you said at a traffic light letting the weight in your chest go. He half smiled.

“I know. It’s okay” he said, trying not to give that much importance. Not at least now.

“No, franco. It’s not okay. I hurt you. You don’t need to lie” you said, insisting on it. You need to talk about it as soon as possible. Your anxiety was making this unbearable. So uncomfortable you wanted to throw yourself through the window.

“y/n, let’s get home and then we can talk. But what I can say now is that, believe me, it’s okay. We were both drunk and we didn’t think of it too much and then… Well that’s what happened. I already forgave you” his voice was soft and calmed. He looked sad but not mad for sure. You half smiled looking at your fingers playing on your tights out of nervousness.

“Okay” you said, not that convinced.

“y/n, it’s fine” he reassured you, looking at you for a second.

You sighed heavily. You stayed silent, understanding he preferred to wait so you could talk more relaxed or at least that's what he felt like. The Drive home was chilled but the silence for you was very uncomfortable. Tension could be cut by a knife. Franco felt it too. He wanted to pretend he was over it but if he was honest to himself, he wasn’t. Not at all. And that was the worst part. Coming back to the friendship when for a moment it felt like finally he could have with you everything he always dreamed of but never could: your love. But then again reality slapped his face and woke him up because that’s what life is about.

Life sucks.

The moment he turned off the car in front of his brick red house full of trees and plants and flowers everywhere, you felt a bit better.you loved his house. It was so pretty and he had his dog called riquelme (his favorite football player from his favorite football team called boca juniors from argentina). He was a huge labrador and the most friendly and playful doggy you have ever met. though , you are more of a cat person and you always argued about it.

You got out of the car. Franco carried you bad into the house as the gentleman he was raised to be. The second you opened the front door riquelme jumped on you making you laugh. Martina, Franco's sister, apparently wasn’t there like you thought she would be (they have lived together since you met them).

“Marti is at cambridge. She arrives tomorrow” he announced when he realized you were waiting for her to appear. You nodded understanding and he left your bed on the couch of the salon. You followed him to the kitchen aisle.

“How’s medicine going?” you asked, showing interest in your other favorite colapinto.

“She’s doing great, she will graduate next year” Franco said in a very proud smile for his little sister. He has always been a great big brother and marti loves him very dearly. They are best friends. You wished to have that with yours but life for you wasn’t that gentle. That’s why you like cats. They understand how lonely life can be.

“Oh my god that’s great! Can’t wait to hug her tomorrow” you said real happiness for your friend. Franco gave you a glass of water that you accepted gratefully when you realized how thirsty you were. You observed how he filled a kettle and put it to heat. Mate was coming so that means that now both of you could talk.

“Would you like coffee? If you drink, mate with me?” he said. One thing he was most proud of is that you actually liked bitter mates. And you were the only non-Argentine person that liked it. And you really liked it. But maybe not because of its taste but for what I meant in your friendship. How it was a companion for the conversations you had and all the gossip enjoyed along with it. It was nice. You got it. You get it all and that’s why he loves you in every way possible. You were the most open minded and empathic person he knew. Even with just the smallest stuff.

“Mate is okay to me” you said and made him smile.

“Okay, so, now I think we can talk,” he said, leaning over the aisle and looking you straight in the eyes. You sat on one of the benches in front of the aisle and got comfortable.

“Like i sad in the car. I am really sorry franco. I really am. What I did has no excuse or even explanation… The truth is I was confused and sad and my head was all over the place that night. And that’s because i didn’t tell you a lot of things or details that happened lately with my life” you saw franco frown a little resting his head on his hand over the aisle. “Charles is back… i keep on bumping into him almost every week now” his face expressed genuine surprise but also confusion and disappointment. You tried not to think so much about what he my think about you right now and try to explain. You sighed again trying not to get nervous. “But anyway, putting that aside, which is what i was growing through at the time but not justification at all, it’s true.i wasn’t thinking about you or your feeling. I wasn’t thinking about how it would make you feel afterwards when i told you what it meant to me. And I know I know I'm a piece of shit and I feel terrible about it. I should’ve thought it through before acting… i’m sorry fran. I don’t wanna lose you. You’re like my closest friend and I'm so grateful to have you in my life. And I'm so stupid because I still have so much to deal with. Hurt people hurt people and it sucks and if i could i would change it, i would make it right. I do care, i really do, about how you feel because if i didn’t i wouldn’t be here. I’m here because i love you but i understand if you don’t feel the same about me” you felt your tears in your eyes. The anxiety raising in your body. His eyes looked glassy but you knew he won’t cry. He won’t show himself vulnerable - not even with you.

The kettle started whistling indicating the water was ready for the mate. The silence was heavy, even heavier than the one in the car. You swallowed hard. He took his time getting ready for the mate and poured the water on the flask. He didn’t even look at you through the whole process. You knew he was dramatic but this was different.

And that was the worst part. Coming back to what things were before that night was impossible now.

He took a sip of his first mate and savoured it. “Like I said. It’s fine. Yes, I was hurt and maybe I still am a bit. And probably will be for a while until I eventually heal. But I understand. I mean, whether I wouldn’t do the same as you did and I don't support your behavior, I get it because I get who you are and what you’ve been through. However, even though I didn't know about the Charles thing, I hope you don’t do what you did to me to anyone else and no, I don't want you making promises but at least just stop for a minute and think it through. I know we were drunk, and I also know that maybe if I wasn't drunk I wouldn't have had access to what happened. But yeah… just I forgive you okay? And yes, we can still be friends although it’s not what my heart wants but I know it would feel worse if you are no longer in my life in any shape or form…” he was very direct. His voice calmed and collected. Usual franco. But his words will always be like daggers if you hurt him. And you hurt him so you deserved it. You nodded understanding every single word that came out of his mouth.

“I know, i wll, i’m sorry”you said because there was nothing else to say about it. You have already said everything and you think he did too. He handed you mate and you grabbed it. Then he smiled widely, making you smile nervously.

“Great! Now back to the best friends schedule, what the hell is going on with you and your only and favorite ex you bitch? Like i cant believe im the last person you tell this news… yeah, nikola told me a bit or maybe a lot it will depend on what you tell me now” he said coming back to his usual witty self that you loved so much. A giggle left out of your body while you rolled your eyes.

And that’s when you told him everything. Everything that has happened and everything you felt. Everything you talked about in therapy. Everything.

“So basically you still love him unsurprisingly” he sentenced so casually as a sort of conclusion. You looked at him weird, confused on why he said that if you told him you hated charles just a second ago. He noticed and before you could say anything he explained “you still love him, you sometimes still talk about him as if he is your ex for only a week. You have everything you had very present stilland the fact that he is back and wants to see you again brought that little part in you that wanted that exact thing to happen. You always waited for him. All of these years, you waited hoping he would realize you were the best he had ever had in his life and run back to you. And it happened but like 10 years later than you would have liked it to happen. That’s why you're hurt. Not only because he was an asshole but also because you fooled yourself again into this. You fell for him again in that ice cream shop. And I don't know him. I know he is handsome but I know Arthur and from what I've heard Charles had the worst marriage of all time. He was dressed several years in his personal life and Arthur was sometimes very worried for him. I don't know the cause of anything of course. But what I want to say is that maybe he wasn't a bad person. He was immature and stupid and made a bad decision and didn't know how to fix it later. Of course he dragged you down with it and that was horrible. But i think you should talk, you should give yourself that opportunity to tell him everything. And then after hearing his side of things you will know what to do”

All of Franco's words got stuck in your head the whole night after that talk. Going on and on.

‘He’s not a bad person’

And maybe he was right and that's the worst part.

⋆˚࿔ one week later 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The wind at the beach was freezing but keeping you awake. And that was not because it was early or anything. It was actually 2pm in the afternoon. But winter has come around very fast, probably as you heartbeats right now. You were seated at a bench in front of the beach, the streets were empty with this weather. Your nose was red for sure and your eyes glassy due to the wind. But it felt nice.

“Hey” he said already in front of you with a shy smile. You smiled back at him and stood up so you could say hi to him. You gave him a quick hug and it also felt nice. He was warm and he was wearing that sweet but strong cologne that you aired so much. And he remembered that all too well.

“Hey, Charlie,” you said shyly and nervously. It was happening. The one thing you were most scared of was happening.

And here comes the worst part, you thought.

⋆˚࿔ TO BE CONTINUED 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

dont forget to like, reblog and comment if you enjoyed it! and follow me so we can friends <3 (and drink mate together)

tag list: @a-beaverhausen , @annaluna12 , @thehoplessromanticclub , @emryb , @hadids-world , @kaztheemyth , @freyathehuntress , @diorbrxtz , @theseerbetweenus , @leila-030304 , @charlesgirl16 , @ricciardosheart , @weekendlusting , @flowerpotterr , @aundercover , @janeh22

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areislol · 1 year ago

Text

it just won't be the same.

"you were a wonderful experience." "you were... everything."

ft— various genshin male x gn! reader

warning — angst with no comfort,breakup!! intended lowercase, not proofread.

a/n— just putting this out before chapter six of my series, we love that. anywho i have another lil thing on the way as well ^^

wordcount. 1.0k

truth be told, he missed you. he missed you a lot.

as the days stretched into weeks and the weeks into months, he found himself grappling with the lingering ache of heartbreak that seemed to deepen with every passing moment.

he reminisces about his connection with you, a connection which no longer existed. the apartment they once called "home" echoed with the haunting silence of memories.

he... remembers how he had grown accustomed to waking up alone. for years, the empty space beside him seemed to mirror the loneliness that lingered in his heart. but when a serendipitous twist of fate introduced him to you, he found himself waking up in bed alongside his lover who admiringly gazes at him.

for once he felt happiness, he would've never imagined himself to finally find the one, that he would always be alone—and yet here you were. ready to embrace and welcome him in your loving arms.

but of course, not everything lasted forever. and that's what hurt the most. he thought that you would be the very one to be by his side forever until you both grow old. he had faith, he trusted himself and his intuition.

oh how he was he was wrong.

he faced the harsh reality of an ending that he never saw coming. The pain, raw and unfiltered, painted his world in shades of heartache. he found himself grappling with the harsh truth that not all love stories are meant to endure.

and once again, he found himself waking up to the haunting vacancy of an empty bed. he grappled with the familiar ache of waking up alone, haunted by the fleeting happiness that had slipped through his grasp.

he wondered how something that felt so right could end so painfully wrong.

he remembered the day you sent him that very text, the very text that would have ever-lasting effects on him. the very text he dreaded since the beginning of your relationship.

he remembered how he felt when he first got a look at your message. "we should talk." oh. that sentence.

he remembered meeting up with you on a rainy day (coincidental huh?) at 2 AM, surprisingly you didn't bring an umbrella which you usually did, luckily for him he brought one for you both to share.

"there's no need, i'll make this quick."

quick? what did you mean? he was unsure of what you had meant, oh if he could only go back and try to persuade you so much more.

the rain poured from the sky in a relentless downpour, as if the very sky had opened up to release its pent-up emotions. it just had to be raining.

both your hairs were soaking wet, rain dribbling down from your head to your face, he had the urge to wipe your face dry and hold an umbrella over you but, he knew better.

he remembers feeling an undescribable gut-wrenching feeling, one he had never felt before.

he remembered how dry his throat felt, had it always been that dry?

he remembered how he seemed to have stopped breathing, his breath short and rigged.

"lets break up, i.. i just don't think this will work. you're too busy and i don't feel loved at all, you really hurt me. i'm sorry but i think this is for the best."

"break up?" his voice was barely above a whisper as his words slipped from his mouth, he inched closer to you, hand reaching out to you before he stopped himself.

he remembered seeing you crying, or maybe it was just the rain. he couldn't see properly anyway, tears were brimming his eyes.

it just couldn't be. his eyes remained focused on you, he studied your face. was this a prank? no, your face.. it was mingled with many emotions, anger? disappointment? he was unsure. brows furrowed as you stared at him, not uttering a single word.

"n—no wait, please, explain yourself. i— if i did something wrong please tell me what i did i'll fix it! what do you mean you don't feel loved? i'll give you everything you need please don't—"

it was no use. his words left no impression on you, he stumbled over his words as he continued to pour out his heart, thinking about everything he must've done to upset you.

"please, don't make this anymore complicated than it already is, you know what you did. i only wish you the best,"

he remembered you letting out a sigh before speaking again. "... you were a wonderful experience."

a wonderful experience?

he remembered everything so vividly as if it happened yesterday. he remembered standing out in the rain in the dead of night, you were long gone, leaving him in the pouring rain, the soft glowing amber streetlights illuminating the wet concrete ground

"you were... everything." he whispered, the weight of those words hanging in the air. his voice was shaky and barely audible as he let out quiet, pained choked sobs, letting his tears run freely down his cheeks.

the pain was unbearable.

the days, weeks, months and years after was like no other. he felt incomplete, he couldn't quite accept the fact that you two were over, gone, all the things you did together were gone. nothing but bittersweet memories.

he despised the gods for being so cruel, everywhere he went was just another blunt reminder of you. the cafes, the parks, museums, galleries, everything.

even the cats you both used to feed every weekend, everything reminded him of you. it was like a curse, clinging and gnawing on his heart.

regret loomed over him like a shadow as he found himself grappling with the haunting question of what could have been done differently. he traced his fingers over old photographs, the smiles frozen in time.

his fingers would linger there on your face a little bit longer unknowingly.

the truth remained: the love that had once been the foundation of their shared world had crumbled, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had let something precious slip through his fingers.

but, if there was a chance, he would go back in time and change everything he ever did to upset you. he yearned for a time machine to undo the missteps and restore the life they had built together. please, take him back.

— (all male genshin characters)

note: erm i just wanted to yeah i wrote this in an hour so if it is rushed NO IT IS NOT (yes it is)

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!!

another note: NOW A (slight) ANGST WITH COMFORT FIC NEXT YAY

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minkdelovely · 8 months ago

Text

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter ten: part two

“i won’t die for love but ever since i met you you could have my heart and i would break it for you.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: nothing scary to report here — welcome to your happy ending 💖

word count: 8k

author’s note: cherished ones… i can’t believe we’re finally here at the end 🥲 it’s taken me much longer than anticipated to get this out, but i hope it’s worth the wait. allow me to extend my sincere gratitude to you all for hanging in there and going on this journey with me and this series. this started out as pure self-indulgence and turned into something much more along the way and i hope this is received by you as the gift i intended it to be. they’re not off the album i used as the platform for this series, but feel free to listen to rain and take me back to eden by sleep token, which i listened to A LOT while writing this. thank you again for all of your kindness and support. i truly don’t think i could have finished this without it 💖

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The last couple days had been… good.

Vaggie had approached you the morning after your little sleepover with Angel to see if you’d actually take her up on the offer of managing the hotel’s books. It was a welcome distraction, easily falling back into the routine of your old work. And honestly, their records keeping system needed a complete overhaul. It kept you busy and focused, hours passing like minutes as you honed in on creating the foundations of your system.

Funny how in Hell the work you had always approached with a level of disdain in life had become something to look forward to. Something that was all yours. It was nice. Familiar.

Ironic.

You also hadn’t gone to the bar — the biggest improvement, or at least the one you were happiest about. Feeling more like yourself again and less like your father, who had been no stranger to bouts of liquored-up sulking. It was not a way you wanted to remember him by, nor make a habit of for the eons to come. And beyond just feeling better without alcohol in your system, it was great to see Husk in a more friendly capacity again. Haunting his bar in the way you did wasn’t something you were ever planning to subject either of you any time soon.

You were regaining a level of comfortability in your room as well. Sleeping better in your bed, which had been difficult to do. For the first few days you slept on the loveseat, where you’ve now spent the last two nights curled up with a book in front of the fireplace.

It was a decent distraction, but thoughts of Alastor still plagued you. Try as you might, it was hard for them not to. He felt so present as you went about your day despite maintaining the separation; feeling his aura hovering around you like a sixth sense. You wanted to ask Husk and Niffty if they felt it like you did — if at all — but hadn’t gotten the nerve yet to do so.

What if they said no?

It was too embarrassing even to think of. The possibility of it being some kind of adverse affect from sleeping with him making your blood rush to your face.

Maybe I took a piece of him, too…

The heat on your cheeks intensified at the thought. Isn’t that exactly what had happened?

Sure, in a literal sense he had been the one to take a piece of you. But in return, you had witnessed him in yet another state that no one else — in this building, at least — ever had. Just the fact that he had let you help undress him… That wasn’t something you look lightly, even at the peak of your anger toward him. The nervous way your heart fluttered against your ribs at the memory only further proved the point.

You wanted the opportunity to do it again. Undress him, that is.

What followed after wasn’t of much consequence; you’d be satisfied just the same. Whether that was helping him out of his day clothes and into pajamas or preparing him to pound you into the mattress — either result was made from the same circumstance. You found you had enjoyed it even more than dressing down his bed for the evening, which had always been a nearly meditative part of your day.

Or, well… it used to be.

Did he even bother with that now? Hell, did he ever? Or was it just more busywork? If it was… you missed it.

Taking care of Alastor was tedious at times but it hadn’t been all bad. He was petulant too, which is probably why he was always deflecting and pointing the finger in your face. But past his venom there was charm. His euphemisms and anecdotes. Grumbling into the newspaper with his ears downcast whenever he came across an unpleasant article, which happened more often than not.

He enjoyed his coffee black and extra hot, but god forbid if it was burnt. That was one of the first things you had been tasked with perfecting, and mercifully, had been able to accomplish. Alastor never made you handle his food, not out of lack of trust but courtesy. Due to the gruesome reality of what he enjoyed eating, it wasn’t a chore he ever charged you with. And you’d busy yourself with cleaning while he ate to allow him as much privacy as possible.

As much as he adored the structure of his morning routine, beyond that the day was his for the taking. Living the monotonous life that you had, it was admirable. Sometimes inspiring. He had a mischievous, opportunistic outlook on existence — no doubt a quality that followed him into the afterlife — while you had been (presumably) buried jaded and trepidatious.

He was… fun. Even when he was irritating.

Before Rosie pawned you off on him, the last time you had ever felt something close to fun was killing your grandmother. A horrifying revelation, but true, though that had more to do with the satisfaction you felt from it than anything. But fun was something that was right at your fingertips with Alastor, when you looked back on the last couple weeks. He had quite the proclivity for antics when he wasn’t being crushed by the weight of his self-imposed grandeur.

The memory of when he brought you back to the alley the day after what you had done came to mind. His inspection of the bag you’d left behind had upset you so much in the moment, but now all you can remember is the glimmer in his eyes. The nearly childlike glee in his fanged smile. Sure, it had been at your expense, but that was how he liked to joke. Satire and whimsy adorned with the pretty bow of his voice and charm.

But his jokes were sometimes too one-sided. His delivery too harsh and actions… demeaning. It wasn’t a facet he aimed at you often but the sting of his cruelty ran deep, almost to the bone. Your hand came up to your throat, the pain in your neck only barely subsided. It had been impossible to tell if the chain had bruised you under all of Alastor’s love bites, but if you were being honest with yourself, there was no way it hadn’t. If even just a little.

You made due with covering yourself up. Managing to find some high-collared button up shirts left to rot in the laundry room. Nothing a good washing wasn’t able to fix. And as the days passed and the marks faded, you were able to transition back into more familiar (and revealing, in comparison) pieces of your wardrobe.

Still, being left to your own devices when Alastor had been the one responsible for not only the marks but ruining the dress that would’ve easily solved your problems with its modesty nicked at you. Not that you had expected gifts after the argument, but considering how he made you wear that dress as uniform there was no way he didn’t have plans to provide a replacement that morning. But it never came.

Instead he had given you a threat and left you on the floor in nothing but a towel, feeling used and humiliated and alone. And yet here you were, with a book in your hand you hadn’t absorbed the last few pages of because your mind was busy remembering the feeling of removing Alastor’s coat.

Or how disheveled and boyish he looked the morning you went into his room without permission and found him in bed. The strain in his eyes before you walked into Valentino’s arms. His drawn brows and open, kiss-swollen mouth when he made you his own on the bed right behind you. That face would haunt you for the rest of your afterlife.

But there was another face that earned the honor, too. An expression that eclipsed even your grandmother’s worst sneer. Was what you said to him that morning really so outrageous that it had warranted such wrath and disdain? Alastor had been in quite a decent mood too, before the conversation took a turn. Not that it made you feel any better, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something bigger than that. You had copped attitude before and Alastor had either laughed it off as a mild tantrum or course-corrected you before you even had a chance to realize it.

Beyond that, there were also the things he had done after you fell asleep, face buried in his scarred chest. The medicine he had waiting at the ready for when you inevitably woke up from the ache of his bite, which he had taken the liberty of cleaning and bandaging. He had more than likely done it by hand as well, the same as when he tended to it on your bed that awful morning. No magic, no minions. Despite being the least he could do since he inflicted the wound, that didn’t mean he had to do it himself. But he did.

Your stomach turned thinking about it. The force of his anger just didn’t match up with the efforts he took in caring for you after your entanglement. It was the push and pull you had been battling all week, and your eyes flitted to the door. Going up to his room wasn’t something you had entertained, knowing better than to try and call Alastor’s bluff, but the desire to speak with him now was a temptation you worried you’d lose the battle against.

Knock.

The single, hollow sound echoing off the door sent a jolt through your body, sitting up from your relaxed position on the small sofa near the fireplace. It was Friday, wasn’t it? Meaning everyone had left the hotel already except for you and…

There’s no way.

Your pulse spiked.

Maybe you just imagined it. Or the hotel was settling. Things like that could still happen to buildings in the afterlife, right? Ghosts and hauntings and creaks and groans seemed fairly on-brand for Hell. Alastor’s shadow — that you had found yourself missing as well — was proof of that all on its own.

It was that final thought that brought you to the door, hand hovering over the knob as your breath thinned; perspiration beading your skin like morning dew. Tormented by the prospect that opening it would either reveal him or nothing at all.

Unsure of which you were hoping for as you let your forehead fall forward, a huff of air passing your lips. Eyes closed as you relaxed into the cool lacquer of the wooden door, reaching out. Alastor felt especially close now. Typical that he would show up now that you were not only beginning to feel better, but also reaching the end of your rope in your banishment from him. If you weren’t too busy fighting the whiplash of frustration and want coursing through you, you would have laughed.

Even reconciliation had to be on his schedule…

If he was actually on the other side of the door wanting to make up, of course. This could all be your imagination, which would be particularly cruel on your mind’s part considering how just moments ago you were feeling so desperate to see him, if only just to talk. You sighed, condensation from your warm breath pilling under your mouth hovering near the door.

Was he really there?

Your hand gripped the handle in response, heart heavy and loud in your chest as you turned it and pulled. There was only one way to know for sure.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor took you in as you opened the door. An apprehensive expression on your face, but with an underlying relief. Though he didn’t need eyesight for the confirmation. Your heartbeat and scent told him all he needed to know with an honesty that betrayed you for his benefit. It was rather unfair, wasn’t it?

The life coming back to your eyes did not go unnoticed, either.

He felt what was left of his vitriol drain out of him, and in a rare moment of self-deprecation he found himself hoping his unpolished state would put you at ease. Despite the lingering tension that was still eating away at him, he truly did wish to avoid an argument. Shouting matches were simply… nasty. In a way he did not much, if at all, enjoy.

Conversation is called an art for a reason.

A true favorite of his and it was much more his speed. With such an adaptable form you could be fencing one minute and duetting the next. Unless, of course, the conversation was bad, which was a fate worse than death. But that hadn’t been a problem with you, for the most part. He’d like that to be the case now as he prepared to linger for as long as it took to reach some kind of resolution.

Things couldn’t stay the way they were. He knew you’d both return to yourselves eventually, but you had gotten a head start on him. Leaving him to grasp at what was on the other side of this only in regard to himself. If ever he needed you, you’d be just a summoning away. Tied to him always by your contract. Something that typically provided a sense of security to the point of aloofness. But the uncertainty of how you would approach your days independent of him in the aftermath made him falter. Made evident by the color that had returned to your face, that spark of ferocity in your eyes.

Deep down he understood that you would carry on.

Tied to him, yes, but not entangled. There was an unpleasant tightness in his chest at the thought, his jaw flexing with irritation. He wasn’t through exploring this, relishing the fire he felt in his blood at seeing you again up close, lungs taking in your scent to feed the flame. Your racing heart a sonnet so sweet in a way that only he could truly appreciate. Feeding a part of him that either had not existed or had been lying dormant which, now awakened, was eager for more and he found himself wondering when it ever would be satiated.

More of your voice ringing in his ears, whether it was coated in insolence or lust… or laughter. More of your scent in his lungs, oxygenating his blood with the bliss of childhood summers. More of your taste on his tongue. Blood, sweat, tears. He’d take it all, or whichever morsels you were still willing to give him. Even if all that left him with was cordiality, it would be far better than letting you slip through his fingers. How wasted you would be on some tramp off the street. Not even taking into account that the average soul couldn’t appreciate your scent, attributes like responsibility and integrity weren’t typically admired here in the pit.

Who else could see you the way he did?

Past the pout of your lips to the lethal fangs hiding behind them; that sleeping anger you managed to keep at bay but weren’t afraid to use if necessary. Would you ever reveal that ferocity and glowing eyes to someone else in the ways he had witnessed them — induced by tapping into some of your baser instincts? It made stomach twist just to think it.

Alastor’s imagination began to run away from him then. Flashes of you making some other sinner’s bed, fetching their coffee, and picking up clothes. Drawing a bath, hanging their coat, laughing at their jokes. That now-dear sulk of yours aimed at the faceless menace when one of those jokes went too far. Phantom hands stripping you of clothes, cupping your face, roaming your body… holding your chin. And though his urges were few and far between, worse still was the thought of you crying out a stranger’s name like a reverent prayer, writhing underneath them as you fell apart.

Foul.

Bile scorched his throat as he fought to maintain his composure in your doorway. The filthy handprints he had just pictured all over you gone in the blink of an eye as his own hand twitched behind his back, eager to hold you once more and feel the heat of your skin soak into his palm. Easy as it would be to reach out and satisfy the urge he refrained from doing so, smothering his desire in his fist. Now wasn’t the right time to succumb to impulse.

As much as Alastor wanted to pull you into his embrace he knew there was still a hatchet to bury. You had touched quite the nerve that morning, after all, and his actions had been less than genteel as a result. As justified as he had felt at the time, it settled in now as something he was less than proud of. Warranted… What a fool he was to think so. Though misguided, all you had done was try to make sense of things. You would be well within your rights to sever any further personal ties with him, and he swallowed against the anxious lump in his throat.

He had spent so much time wallowing in liquor, wasted countless hours justifying his anger toward you to ease his own unrest. Even if you had picked the fight… hadn’t he brought you right to the edge of it with his antics over the past weeks? In truth, hadn’t making you lose your composure been his goal from the start? He had certainly got what he wanted, just not in a way that was originally intended; culminating in a misunderstanding that threatened to keep parts of yourself locked away from him for, quite possibly, eternity.

Desiring someone’s comfort the way he did yours was something he never expected to have to face, let alone something he ever feared to lose. Alastor wondered for the first time how things between you would be had you met sooner. Granted, you had only been in Hell for two-or-so months, but he was a different man now than he was even then. The Alastor of two months ago still had his microphone, for starters. His sword and shield. Now nothing but another one of his corpses left to decay in the bayou.

That man hadn’t had his confidence shaken, his power drained. Alastor had felt so invigorated when he retreated to the radio tower to mend himself after battling Adam, but the healing process hadn’t been simple. Seeing as the weapon that caused the wound was made of angelic steel, Alastor expected it would take more time than usual, but he had underestimated the reality of it. So many arduous, slow hours had passed as he used all his strength just to make minute progress in closing the gash. It took a week to finally get it to seal, the scar barely formed by the time he encountered you at Rosie’s.

Simply put, you had weathered emotional storms that he typically had much better control of. There was a sourness in his soul that had been poisoning him from the very beginning of your relationship, which you took — more often than not — in stride. As much as he felt there was no one who fully appreciated you, Alastor believed it to be a two way street. Whether there was anyone else who could take your place — paramour, caretaker, or otherwise — was inconsequential. He simply wasn’t interested in the prospect. Hadn’t he gotten along just fine in his relative solitude before you fell to suffer your infernal fate?

It wouldn’t be the same.

It already wasn’t, in fact, which is why his feet had brought him here when his stubbornness wouldn’t. Opening the door to him was only the first step. You could still slam it in his face, effectively shutting him out; leaving him standing alone in the hall as the Overlord who owned your soul and nothing more.

He found it to be a dreadful prospect.

“May I come in?”

Even he could hear the exhaustion in his voice, making the question heavy in air as he watched you contemplate. Nervous fingers tapping the doorframe to the same beat as his heart before you stepped off to the side to make way for him. Alastor managed to fight the instinctual twitch at the corners of his mouth. Now wasn’t the time for smiling, despite the wave of relief he felt at your accepting of his request to enter.

As long as it takes…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You watched as Alastor practically collapsed on your sofa, massaging his temples with a single hand as he leaned back to cross his legs. Still doing his best to maintain decorum despite how worn out he was. Discontent, you shifted on your feet, not wanting to give into the pity you felt towards him too easily.

As much as you tried to remember your anger, there was no denying the relief you felt at being near him again. Hearing his voice. And knowing he could pick up on it only made it worse. Would it ever be anything but an uphill battle for you when it came to him? Your eyes couldn’t help but look just past him to where you had fallen to the floor, left to console yourself in your shame and grief. The memory didn’t fuel what was left of your animosity, but pricked at your sadness instead, making you feel the weight of the day.

I’m so sick of this…

Alastor’s gaze followed you as you moved to take your seat next to him, picking your book up off the cushion and placing it on the small coffee table in front of you. His eyes and hand lingered on the cover as you sat down.

“I just missed the first draft,” he said quietly, static replaced with the distant sound of remembrance. Eyes never leaving your copy of A Farewell to Arms as he continued with a small, humorless laugh. “I was eligible for the others but the only Divisions I could have been placed in were booked. Funny, isn’t it, a quota on the worthiness to die at war? But I suppose that’s a conversation for another time…”

The glimpse of his human life caught you off guard. Vulnerability wasn’t something you expected from him, especially not in the wake of your argument; the admission was given so casually you couldn’t help but soften just a bit, leaving you hungry for more of his secrets.

He turned to you then, somehow looking even more tired than he had before. “We have our own battle to rectify, don’t we?”

You sighed and positioned your body to face him, bringing your legs up to sit criss-cross. This was shaping up to be a long night, so you decided you might as well get this out of the way. Even managing to get a piqued eyebrow out of him from the sober look that was no doubt on your face as you considered what you were about to say.

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that I enjoyed our…,” you trailed off, looking for the right word.

Our what?

Things had become so muddled you weren't quite sure what to call it. Sex, obviously, but… it had felt like more to you in the end. No matter how many times you reminded yourself that it wasn’t supposed to be anything other than a one night stand at best — and had spent the whole week drowning your sorrows trying not to think about the worst.

“I know you weren’t.” He said it in almost the same tone when you had admitted it in the first place, but his eyes were soft. “I enjoyed it myself, the second time. I thought that was obvious, but when you asked about the pheromones that morning… they had nothing to do with it. Not that evening. I… initiated that. Which is why I was so incensed by the implication that I was acting outside of myself.”

The confession sunk to the bottom of your stomach. You hadn’t expected him to be so forthcoming and even keeled regarding it. And while you felt relief that the pheromones weren’t at play that evening — and that he had not only enjoyed, but desired it — you didn’t miss the implication of the words he kept to himself regarding how you ended up in this mess in the first place. The more you thought about it, the more you were beginning to understand why he felt the way he did. Was that why he had returned you to your room to wake up alone, because being in his bed was too much of a reminder? Had he really regretted it that much?

Because you didn’t.

The truth was you had been more than willing to give yourself to him that afternoon. Yes, you knew something wasn’t quite right, but you didn’t know he was fighting against Valentino’s nasty little trick. You’d never know what would’ve happened if you had denied him instead, because that’s not what happened. Would he have gone into a rage? In the state he was in, that wasn’t an impossibility. In fact, that was what you had been expecting, wasn’t it? In a way you dodged a bullet — received his affections, however intense, instead of his violence. The bruised remnants of his mark on your shoulder were a dizzying mix of both.

Though the ferocity you received the next morning… had it been lying in wait? Using the chain on you the way he did compounded by the words he spat at you was a tough memory to forget, to the point where you wondered if you ever could. He had only punished you that way one other time, but it had been nothing compared to this. Blood burned under your cheeks as you recalled how humiliated you felt. How different would things be right now if he had just let you stay?

“Look I…,” you sighed and ran a hand through your hair, but resisted the urge to look away from him. “I really do understand why you’re unhappy with how things happened that afternoon but…”

Here goes nothing.

“It’s something I’ve been aware of in myself for a little while but… you don’t know how much it meant to me, being touched that way by you and how you let me touch you back it —” You wiped a tear you couldn’t stop from falling and cleared your throat, but the thick, choking feeling didn’t subside. The pinched look on Alastor’s face nearly sent you over the edge, but you couldn’t stop now that you’ve started. He needed to hear this as much as you needed to say it. “It made me really happy, if that’s even the right word for it.”

It wasn’t. But you didn’t know how else you could try to tell him how wanted and safe you felt underneath him. That no one had ever managed to turn your blood to kerosene; every bit of him the match, the bed behind you kindling. At this point it didn’t really matter that you hadn’t known him for very long. You cared about him, much more than you ever expected to, and you wanted to be near him in whatever capacity you could be. Whether that made you his errand girl or concubine, so long as you were spared from the more acidic side of his temper.

“And when I think about how much you regret it, it kills me, even though I know why you do. But… I don’t. You didn’t take advantage of me, if that’s something you’ve been worrying about. Honestly, now I can’t help but wonder if it’s the other way around…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffed, lightly exasperated as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve only ever gone along with my impulses and games. My behavior in this has been… unbecoming. I fear my mother would be quite ashamed, and rightfully so, but you’ve come to know me at a low point.”

Everything about him felt wrung out and far off, from his posture to the defeat in his unfiltered voice. It had been absent from the moment he asked to come inside, but for some reason was only hitting you now. Though you couldn’t fight the ache in your heart from the poor state of him, there was still more you needed to know before you could let yourself give in. No matter what subconscious queues your body was undoubtedly feeding him in the meantime.

“You say unbecoming…,” you began tentatively, worried that what you were about to ask could possibly upset him again. “Is that because of how you punished me that morning, or the toying you’ve subjected me to?”

If you had to choose, you really hoped that he’d feel apologetic for the chain. While they could be annoying, his games and tricks were mostly harmless. You had admitted to yourself not too long ago that you were even beginning to miss them. That was not a feeling you extended to the invisible leash that bound you to him, not the way it had been used then, at least.

Alastor removed the hand from his nose to meet your eyes, the speed of his movement catching you off guard. For the first time all night his eyes were clear and earnest; that steadfast, hypnotizing red you had come to seek and cherish.

“Would you accept it if I said both? By pushing you I think I may have set us up for the argument. I won’t say that what you said that morning didn’t upset me, since it did, but… Perhaps if I had given you less reason to think I was playing at another game it would have never happened in the first place.”

His voice was soft as he held his left hand out to you, a different charge in the air as your eyes broke contact to flicker down to his open palm.

The olive branch.

There was no doubt he could hear the way your heart had picked up, nearly choking you with its fervor as you swallowed against it… and gave him your hand.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“I was so humiliated that morning… I’ve been so mad at you.”

Alastor could hear the tears threatening to spill behind the statement, and he squeezed your hand before his thumb began to rub in soothing circles as you looked away from him for the first time that night. He took a quick moment to follow your line of sight and grimaced when he realized you were looking at the spot where he had treated you so harshly. There was nothing he could do to take back what he did. Regret was such an awful weight, reminding him of long nights trudging through the swamp to discard one of his victims. His mouth soured. It would seem he’d need to add your name to the list.

Things were never meant to end up this way. This… tangled.

He dared to lean forward, not that there was much distance to close on your quaint loveseat, and cupped your face with his other hand to draw your gaze back to his. The conflict in your eyes went right to his stomach with a kick — the chance that you would turn him away forever still there, but he was thankful you hadn’t rejected his touch. He really couldn’t have suffered through the empty ache in his hands for even another minute; the heat of your skin already refilling his cup.

And despite how much he wanted anything but, he knew he had to give you an out. It was only right.

“I was a brute… I can’t undo what’s been done but if you’d like me to leave you alone, I will. I’m not keen on releasing you from our contract, but I would let you leave this hotel if you wish.” The words scorched his tongue, but they were true. He would let you go if that’s what you really wanted. You deserved that chance. “It’s safer here, but I would know immediately if you faced any trouble. Well… any trouble you couldn’t handle yourself, that is. I know how capable you are.”

Alastor gave you a small smile, the first time his lips had curled up with any sincerity for days. It was the most generous offer he had ever given a soul under his heel, and your short, dry laugh in response was music to his ears. There was no bitterness in the sound, nor was there any coming from your scent, but that wasn’t an indication of what was going on in your mind. Something the Overlord needed to remind himself of more often. He took a moment to really breathe you in then, floral notes of almond warming him on the inside as your body warmed him from out. Would it be the last time he was ever surrounded by you like this?

He didn’t know when his thumb began to absently stroke your cheek, but he loved the flush it brought to your face as you considered his words. A hint of iron gave the sweetness in the air just enough bite to make him swallow, his throat now parched and wanting. It took all he had not to close the remaining space between you, needing your answer before he would move an inch save the part of him caressing your face.

A jolt ran through him as your eyes locked onto his with a resolve that made his hair stand on edge, and he steeled himself as your lips parted to speak. Never could he have imagined that you would join the short list of people to hold his fate in their palm. And fewer still, one that he didn’t hold resentment toward having that power. There was security in your hold, not malice. Such a rare thing to stumble across even in life, let alone in this sulfurous chasm that had been home for the last near-century. As unworthy as he felt to receive it, the thought of losing it was even worse. He wasn’t in love… but it wasn’t impossible that he could be, with more time.

If you would give it to him.

“I don’t want to leave the hotel,” you said quietly, and brought your free hand up to hold his chin in the same way he had held yours countless times.

Alastor felt his ears lower despite how attuned they were to hear what you would say next, though the thumping in his chest didn’t help. To reach out and touch him of your own accord this way was bold, and he tried not to hone in on the bashfulness he felt burning his face. Why choose shame when he could have comfort? That was what he wanted, after all. A reprieve from The Radio Demon. There was nothing to be gained in postering, not with you. With you he could be… anything. And no matter your decision, he vowed to provide you with the same space.

His schemes to mold you into something you weren’t fled him with every exhale of his lungs. It was a senseless desire… Remorseless murders were a dime a dozen here. Thrilling as it had been to see you decapitate that wretch with your teeth, the fact that you refused to do something akin to that again merely for the sake of it like so many others was refreshing. He could appreciate only killing with purpose. That had been his modus operandi in life, after all. Murder was a tool he now used to illicit fear and respect, though most souls here were free game to him even under his mortal code. You were not, and it had taken him much too long to acknowledge it.

“And I don’t want you to leave me alone… ever again, but…”

But…

The shakiness in your voice felt like the blade of a guillotine, hovering above his neck while he agonized over when you would let the rope loose and seal his fate.

“I don’t know if I could handle that again. The chain, your anger — ” A small sob escaped you then, tearing through him like a hurricane.

Alastor didn’t even realize he was kissing your face until the salt of your tears registered on his tongue. Every little press of his lips an oath to never make you cry like this because of him ever again. And when your hands cupped his cheeks he only had a moment to relish in his relief, sighing against your skin before you captured his lips with yours. A familiar green glow enveloping you both as an unspoken agreement was made.

Peace.

What a magnanimous gift to receive.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Low voices pulled you out of sleep, making you aware of the cold that was beginning to sink into the front of your body. You had been so warm… so comfortable.

Safe.

More mumbling at your door as you groaned, the grievance in the sound not lost on you even in your groggy state. It wasn’t lost on Alastor either, saying something you couldn’t decipher beyond its tone of finality followed by the closing of the door.

“It’s still the middle of the night sweetheart, don’t stir.”

You didn’t even have time to ask who was at the door before he ran a soothing hand through your hair, maneuvering himself back into place in your bed. Pressing the length of his body in close against yours as he nuzzled into your chest, humming as he found the pulse of your heart. The warm, claiming kiss he placed there sent a shiver through you, your shared embrace tightening in response.

“What’s gotten into you? You promised you’d be good,” you mumbled, wriggling a little from the way his breath tickled your skin.

Even to yourself the warning was half-admonishing at best. But you were also just barely awake. Fingers betraying you as they lightly massaged his undercut, his contented sigh making you hide your face in his hair as if he could see the flush on your cheeks.

You’d be stronger in the morning.

Pet names and kisses like this weren’t something you were expecting to receive again so soon. It had been discussed, and you had both agreed to try and take things slow. A fresh start, of sorts. While you were used to him calling you dear, it was a term he used frequently toward other residents as well.

Sweetheart was… special.

Which he no doubt knew. Most likely saying it when he did so he could press up and relish your rapid heart like you were none the wiser.

“I know, I know,” he conceded, his words muffled by your skin. Inadvertently kissing you more due to the sheer proximity of his lips to your chest. Feeling closer to you now than he had during intimacy.

And, admittedly, cuddling in bed wasn’t exactly what you’d call taking it slow. But by the time you had finished talking — and making out on the loveseat — the two of you were so exhausted that letting him spend the night had seemed innocent enough. Like platonically sharing a bed with a friend. Though that’s not a word you would use to describe what Alastor was to you.

More than friends, not quite lovers. Beholden to each other all the same.

“Which is why I’ll only do this… for now.”

Alastor’s words and the warning, low tone of his voice hardly registered before you felt his tongue lap at the valley between your breasts, leaving a scorching trail in its wake that made your breath hitch. The soft groan from his open mouth right over your heart only making it beat harder, pleading for more of him. His large palm splayed against your back as he pressed you against his lips to nestle and kiss and suck, as if trying to pull the frantic organ through your skin through desire alone. You gasped as the light prick of his nails between your shoulders sent a fresh shiver down your spine, ending in a warm bloom between your hips as you curled into his touch. His responding needy hum as he grazed you with his teeth making you whimper.

Stronger in the morning…

“You’re not playing fair,” you complained, but it was a pathetic attempt at a scolding. You didn’t really want him to stop. Alastor’s responding chuckle told you that he knew it, too. The sound of it making your heart ache, and you were unable to suppress the small whine from behind your closed lips as he nipped and licked at your collarbone. “I missed you so much.”

You barely managed to finish speaking when he moved up to kiss you properly, slow and sweet, hand leaving your back to cradle the crown of your head. Melting into his touch, you moaned as his tongue entered your mouth; gentle and hot, coaxing whimpers and gasps from both of you as you tangled your fingers in his hair to keep him close.

“I missed you, too,” he said quietly, nudging your nose with his.

Tears fell unbidden as Alastor caressed and kissed the lingering bruises from his bite, seemingly determined to make them disappear through sheer willpower. Every little touch — administered or received — was comforting in a way that you feared would leave you insatiable, but the thought that formed in your mind through the haze of affection was a reassuring one.

This was eternity.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Fess up, toots.” Angel plopped down on a chair across from you, gleaming as he rested his head in his hands and leaned forward conspiratorially. “You’re havin’ all kinds of sleepovers now, huh?”

You nearly dropped the mug in your hands from the sudden question, and quickly looked around to see if anyone else had overheard. Not that the reconciliation was going to be secret — which would have been impossible to pull off anyway, considering how much the two of you had been moping around the hotel — but you had hoped to at least make it through the morning with the knowledge kept to yourselves.

“That was you at the door last night, I’m assuming?” The nonchalance you were aiming for just enough to get a laugh from him. “What did you say to him anyway?”

“Just that I was checkin’ up on my girl — which he did not appreciate me callin’ ya, by the way — after missin’ the big night out. I hope I didn’t send him to bed too mad.” Judging by the smug look on Angel’s face, he knew that Alastor definitely had returned to bed at least a little ruffled. “Buuut after I heard ya wakin’ up I figured I’d save the teasin’ for another day.”

“And you started bright and early,” you quipped, unable to help the smile tugging at your lips as you went back to preparing the breakfast tray.

“Well ya ain’t exactly bein’ subtle, what with the two mugs and all,” Angel taunted, jerking his head in the tray’s direction, “but jokes aside… I’m glad you were able to patch things up with Smiles. Who woulda thought all it’d take was an empty hotel, huh?” He gave you a wink and you narrowed your eyes at the suggestion, but he cut you off before you could even begin to ask the question forming in your mind. “Look, I gotta run, but I’m expectin’ a full report when I get back from work, capisce? Oh! Speakin’a which — guess who’s supposed to be on set tomorrow?”

It was your turn to laugh. “It’s about time that lazy bitch went back to work. Making the rest of you pick up the slack is just rude.”

You both snickered as you added the finishing touches on the tray, rounding out the coffee with some croissants and fruit. It definitely paid to be in the Princess’ circle; grapes in particular were very hard to come by. There wasn’t much time to relish in your mirth with Angel before you felt a cool, slinking tendril climb up your leg. Alastor’s shadow soon emerging over your shoulder to glare at your friend and whine in your ear.

Angel put all four of his hands up in mock defeat and pushed away from the table. “Duty calls, I get it,” he chuckled and gave you a knowing look, popping a grape from the tray into his mouth before making his way out of the kitchen. “Make sure the boss man knows ya got plans for tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you called after him, glancing behind you as the shadow growled at the spot where Angel Dust had been. Its face reverted back to sullenness when you pursed your lips, admonishing him with only a look. Any lingering irritation dissolved as it tugged at your sleeve, urging you back upstairs, and you conceded with a sigh. “You wouldn’t even be here to come get me if it wasn’t for Angel, you know. I expect you to be nicer next time.”

The shadow nodded its head and pulled on you again, its phantom grin quickly returning when you picked up the tray and began to walk back to the elevators. Baseless hostility toward Angel aside, it was hard not to smile as you watched it flitter across the floor; pausing every few feet to materialize and look back, ensuring you were right behind it. If your theories about this creature were right, it was merely acting as an extension of the demon you were making your way back to, and he was apparently quite eager for your return. A warm rush of pride left your body tingling at the thought.

Then again… it wouldn’t do well for the two of you to be late to your sudden appointment with Rosie. Who, according to Alastor, was very anxious to see you both and had something special planned that he had nothing to do with.

Yeah, right…

When you entered your room, you found Alastor at the loveseat still lounging in his pajamas and you scoffed, “That was a lot of urgency from someone who hasn’t gotten dressed yet.”

“Well, I had to do something. Our mutual friend was getting you off-track. I thought we took the same pleasure in this morning routine of ours, but perhaps I’m mistaken?” Alastor’s tone was light, his smile teasing as he watched the blush burn your face.

You cleared your throat as you took a seat next to him after setting down the tray and decided to change the subject. What point was there in admitting what he already knew?

“Rumor has it that Donny’s finally scheduled back to work tomorrow,” you said conversationally, helping yourself to some of the fruit.

Alastor’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before his face lit up in a hearty laugh; the ebullient sound of it making the mark he had left over your heart radiate with fondness. His face sharpened with that menacing, debonair grin as he looked down at you while you poured his coffee.

“Took him long enough to pull himself together, didn’t it? You did do quite a number on him, darling.”

You hummed, pleased with the proud look he gave you, and passed him the mug; a shock running through you as your fingers touched. Silly, considering how you had been pressed together all evening… not to mention all the other marks he left that matched the one currently throbbing between your breasts.

Even in life, you never could have imagined something like this. Sitting in the parlor with a suitor, giggling over coffee and breakfast after an evening of whispering sweet nothings between kisses. It would be foolish to think a peace like this could last forever, but this was the afterlife. Wasn’t peace the absolution from mortality and its fickleness? As you watched Alastor sip his coffee, his free hand absently massaging the back of your neck as he hummed along to the radio, you couldn’t help but think so.

Peace, friendship, sanctuary, love, and power.

Hell wasn’t what you had expected it to be. It was home.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

ps: a special shoutout to my darlings @hazelfoureyes and @sugoi-writes for giving me their shoulders to lean on while i worked on this final chapter. you both have listened to me ramble off ideas and scenarios and have supported me with such patience and grace… i don’t know how i’ll ever repay you but i will never stop trying!

pps: i do have plans for an epilogue, but don’t have a timeline on it just yet… stay tuned 😌💖

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmiccandydreamer, @stardustandbrimstone, @cherry-cola-100, @wonderlandangelsposts , @catticora, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth, @alastorthirsty, @reath-solia, @junieshohoho, @cxrsedwxrlds, @fraugwinska, @littlebluefishtail, @nxcxllxsevens, @swagkittybear

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fan fiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #song fic #if i can't have love i want power #love and power #slow burn #hazbin hotel slow burn

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joeliz99 · 27 days ago

Text

"You, Always." - Danny Ramirez

Warnings: Slowburn, Friends to lovers, RPF Fic, Multi-part series

(In case you missed the first two chapters, click here)

Part One

When Love Breaks.

Third Chapter

April 15. Three Years Prior. Connection started to fade.

(Y/N) was fuming. How in the world had an innocent outing with friends months ago turned into this? Why was Ava, a close friend of hers, suddenly asking about Danny? This was supposed to be a girls' day out, and now all (Y/N) could think about was the possibility of Ava and Danny flirting with each other.

“So... what do you think?” Ava asked, her expression puzzled as she waited for a response, having just finished scanning the last rack of clothes.

“Umm, I’m sorry. Let me get this straight. You’ve actually seen each other a few times because of the volunteer project?”

“Yeah.”

“And you think you’ve been hitting it off lately?”

“Umm… Yeah. That’s exactly what I said.” Ava’s brow furrowed, clearly confused by (Y/N)’s tone.

“I know. I’m just... trying to process. It’s weird, you know? He usually tells me everything. I’m just surprised.” (Y/N)’s voice softened, trying her best not to show how much this conversation was affecting her.

“Yeah, well… It's nothing serious yet. So it kind of makes sense he hasn’t said anything. I just want your opinion since you two are so close. I figured you know him better than most.”

“Mhm… Yeah.” She took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure. Danny wasn’t hers to be jealous over, but God, it was so hard. “I mean, sure, he’s a good guy. I don’t have anything bad to say about him, so... yeah...”

“You wouldn’t mind if I tried to go for him, right?” Ava glanced at her sideways, her voice casual but a hint of something else in her eyes.

“Why would I mind? I’m just his friend. You two can do whatever you want.” The words slipped out before (Y/N) could stop them, too quick, too sharp. She did mind—of course she did—but she wasn’t about to admit it. She had no right.

“I don’t know. I’m asking because I don’t want to make things weird. I know you two are close, and I’m not exactly in your inner circle, so... I just wanted to know how you feel about it.”

“It’s fine with me. If you want to explore something with him, that’s up to you. I’m not the one to say yes or no.” (Y/N) forced a smile, feeling it stretch painfully across her face. Her heart was pounding, but she pushed it down. Pride, not emotion, had to take the lead right now.

“Great!” Ava beamed back at her, almost too quickly, just as she showed her a cute top.“I like this one. I think I’ve got enough stuff to try on. Are you coming?¨

“Uh, yeah. I’ll be there in a second. Just doing one last round. I’ll catch up with you.” (Y/N)’s smile stayed frozen, her mind reeling. It felt like she was playing a part, pretending everything was fine while her chest tightened. But she couldn’t let it slip. Not yet.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Every step she took felt heavier, her mind too full of thoughts to focus on anything else. Was she responsible for all of this? Why was it happening now? She couldn't shake the feeling that everything was spiraling.

By the time she said goodbye to Ava and made her way back to her dorm, the weight on her chest had lightened—just a little. (Y/N) pulled out her phone, dialing the one number that had been haunting her thoughts for hours now.

It didn’t take long before the ringing stopped.

“Well, look who’s finally calling. I thought you—”

“You and Ava are talking?”

Danny’s voice faltered, clearly thrown off guard. “What?”

“Are you hanging out with her?”

“I’ve only talked to her a couple of times. Why are you asking me this?”

“I just talked to her, and she told me she likes you and thinks you might be interested in her too. I didn’t even know you two were spending time together lately.”

“Well, you would’ve known if you actually took more than a minute to talk to me. So, I guess it’s not my fault you’re out of the loop.”

(Y/N) sighed, fingers pressing against her temple as she kept walking. He had a point, but it didn’t change anything. Not how she felt.

“So, do you like her?”

“What?” Danny’s tone grew sharp, his annoyance growing with each word. Why was she calling him to ask this, knowing how they’d left things? He wanted to say that he didn’t like anyone but her. But he didn’t. He was tired of this back and forward.. “You know what? I’m not playing this game. Do you remember the last conversation we had? Because I bet you do. So it really doesn’t matter if I like her or not. I am, or let me correct myself, we are, both free of dating, talking or doing whatever we want.”

“Mhm. Bet. Is that how it’s going to be?” (Y/N)’s voice trembled, her heart feeling like it was going to burst. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Yeah, (Y/N), that’s exactly how it’s going to be from now on.” Danny’s words hung in the air, his frustration boiling over. It wasn’t just the situation with her—it was everything. He could feel the walls they’d built together starting to crack, and he hated it.

A long silence stretched between them, both of them swallowing down everything they wanted to say but couldn’t.

Finally, (Y/N) spoke, her voice tight, every word laced with bitterness. “Good to know. Do whatever you want, then. I don’t have anything else to say.”

Before Danny could respond, the line went dead. He stared at the phone, his chest tight. What the hell had just happened? He knew that this wasn’t just about Ava. But right now, everything was falling apart, and he couldn’t or knew how to stop it.

June 20. Only two months later. A last thread of hope.

Graduation day came by, and everything was still the same. Danny’s loved ones said present that day to see him cross off another goal. They were there to cheer him up when he walked towards the stage to get his diploma, and even more when he went out looking for them once the long ceremony was over. He wasn’t the only one graduating that year, Christopher, another good friend of his core group, had shared the moment with him. Everyone congratulated him, the woman he loved the most – his mom – his sister, and his brother-in-law… Ava was there too, officially taking the step of sharing a small kiss with him to seal the weeks of talking and dating they had spent lately. It was official. They were a thing now.

The kiss was brief, but just as they pulled apart, Danny caught a glimpse of her—(Y/N)—standing in the crowd. Her eyes locked onto his. Frozen.

She was here. And he hadn’t even expected it. Not like this, anyway, even when it made all the sense in the world.

His heart sank, and everything else—the cheers, the congratulations—blurred in the background. For a second, it felt like time itself had paused. Danny wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for her to see this or to even talk to her.

Before he could even think about what he was doing, his legs were already moving toward her. The crowd’s noise faded into the distance, as if the world around him was muffled. Even when he tried to react to the moment—grinning, greeting his friends—his feet betrayed him, carrying him toward her.

(Y/N) blinked twice, as if pulled out of a trance. There she was, standing before him, her breath catching in her chest.

“You came…” Danny said, the words feeling strange on his tongue, heavy with something unsaid.

“I wasn’t going to miss this day for anything in the world,” (Y/N) said, her voice steady, but her eyes told a different story. They were darker now, the sparkle from before replaced with something unreadable.

“Listen, (Y/N)�� I think it’s best if we talk.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. She nodded, against every impulse telling her to walk away, to not ruin this day for him. But how could she keep pretending after what she had just witnessed? The kiss, the way everything had shifted so easily between him and Ava—it was a reality she couldn’t ignore.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Danny reached for her hand, and it felt like a small lifeline. He pulled her away from the loud, crowded hall and led her into the quiet patio they had spent so much time in. The silence between them now felt heavy, like a storm waiting to break.

She walked ahead, pacing from one side to the other with her head down and her hands tucked inside the dress pants she had decided to wear that day.

“So… are you and Ava officially together?”

Danny swallowed hard, his stomach already twisting, knowing that what he was about to say would destroy her.

“Um… yeah. We’re sort of dating.”

(Y/N) nodded, silence stretching between them. Danny’s heart pounded faster as the seconds dragged on.

“I—I had it all planned out, you know?” she finally spoke, her voice unsteady. “I wanted to say I was sorry. That I’ve been a mess. That—” She stopped, exhaling sharply, as if the words were getting caught in her throat and the weight in her chest was pressing down too hard.

Her gaze flickered to his, searching, breaking.

“But you and Ava are together, Danny.”

Danny opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

(Y/N) let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head. "You don't have to say anything. I get it."

His jaw tightened. "You don't. Not really." His expression flickered with something unreadable, something close to pain. "It was never supposed to be like this. I thought all of this would be so different for us. But you pushed me away, (Y/N)… You made that decision for the both of us.”

"And was I wrong?" she asked, offering him the smallest, saddest smile. "Was I wrong when I told you this wasn’t going to work? It could have been anyone else, Danny. Anyone. But Ava?"

Danny exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus, (Y/N), do you think I planned this? Do you think I wanted things to end up like this?" His voice was rising, frustration cracking through his usually calm exterior.

“No.” she paused, the words thick in her throat, “You know what is the only thing I can think of right now? That I can’t be happy about this. About you or her. I want to, but I can’t.” Her voice broke slightly, and she looked away. “Because I’m heartbroken. And that’s the only thing I know how to feel right now.”

Danny’s face contorted, as if her words had physically hit him. He took a step closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “ I really don’t know what you want me to say right now…”

She scoffed, eyes flashing. " I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to realize what this means. That we need space. That we can’t keep pretending we’ll find our way back to each other when everything is pushing us apart."

His frown deepened as he shook his head. "Don’t do this. Not again, please. Are you really willing to destroy a friendship of years because we’re mad at each other?”

(Y/N) looked up at him then, really looked at him, and the anger in her eyes softened just enough to reveal the devastation underneath.

"I’m not," she whispered. "We both did, actually.”

Danny’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He wanted to argue, to fight for something, but he didn’t even know what that was anymore.

Pride. Anger. Hurt. It sat between them like a wall, too thick to break through now.

"Fine," he finally muttered, his voice barely above a breath. "If that’s what you want."

Her lip trembled, but she nodded. "It’s what we need."

A beat of silence.

And then she turned, walking away before she could change her mind.

Danny stood there, watching her disappear, knowing this time, neither of them would look back.

______________________________

Second part already available here!

Still wanting to read more? Here are some other Danny's shots to read. You're welcome!!!!

#danny ramirez #danny ramirez fic #danny ramirez x (y/n)#danny ramirez x you #danny ramirez x reader #fanboy #joaquin torres #fanboy x reader #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #danny ramirez gif #danny ramirez fluff #slow burn #friends to strangers #friends to lovers #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres fluff #mickey garcia

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arcaneorphic · 1 month ago

Text

Unravel Me

Pairing: Remus Lupin x F! Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU (Reincarnation) Series, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort, Fluff, Slow burn

Summary: Remus Lupin never believed he had a soulmate—until one accidental touch shatters his carefully built walls. The wolf inside him has always known, but Remus refuses to accept that fate could be so cruel as to tie her to him. Haunted by longing and fear, he tries to run, but she is relentless—warmth slipping through the cracks, undoing him piece by piece. As desire wars with self-doubt, Remus must decide: fight fate or surrender to the one thing he’s always denied himself.

Prev. // Next

Word Count: 3966

Chapter Four: This Is Me Trying

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

“And that was all she said?” Lily asked Remus as they made their way to the library. The corridors were filled with other students too consumed by their own conversations and happenings to give the duo much thought.

“Yup.”

“Okay,” Lily said slowly as she thought through her next words carefully. “But did she say it like ‘I don’t have to go’ or ‘I don’t have to go’?”

Remus stared at her blankly for a moment, “That… you just said it the same twice.”

The look of incredulity that settled on Lily’s face would have been comical during different circumstances. “Are you dense?” she asked, stopping in her tracks to turn and face him fully. “The tone, Remus! How did she say it? Was it casual? Hesitant? Was she giving you an out or hoping you’d ask her to join?”

Remus blinked, suddenly regretting every life choice that had led him to this conversation. “I—I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “She just said it.”

Lily groaned, throwing her hands up. “Hopeless,” she muttered. “Absolutely hopeless. All of you, every single one.”

Since James and Lily became an item his own friendship with Lily had flourished. It was nice, most of the time.

She was a force, much like James but with a different kind of intensity—one that was quieter, more precise. She had a way of picking apart his thoughts before he even had the chance to process them himself, which was both helpful and infuriating.

Most of the time, he appreciated it.

Right now, however, as she continued to stare at him like he was the dimmest person alive, he wasn’t so sure.

“I don’t even know why I brought it up,” he grumbled as he continued down the hall. It was a lie, boldfaced and completely. He knew why he brought it up.

James would be no help. He had known him long enough to predict exactly what he would say—Just tell her, mate, what’s the worst that could happen? And Remus was not about to do that. Because the pessimist that he was, Remus could go on and on about a hundred different ways doing that would end in complete and utter disaster. Sirius would likely say the same, in cruder fashion too most likely. Peter would likely agree with Remus, telling him that it was better to be safe than sorry, better to never give this the chance to turn into something that could potentially hurt him. Maybe, once upon a time, Remus would have taken that advice.

Which led him to the only other person he could turn to, and one that would likely have better advice—Lily Evans. She was, after all, the only one who wouldn’t tell him to throw caution to the wind like James and Sirius, but also wouldn’t feed into his self-sabotaging instincts the way Peter might.

Lily was practical but not cold. She was honest but not unkind. If anyone could help him untangle this mess—or at the very least, stop him from spiraling any further—it was her.

Which was how he found himself trudging toward the library, bracing himself for whatever blunt wisdom she was about to throw at him.

Remus had a sneaking suspicion that James had already filled Lily in on the basics, he was right of course. He wasn’t particularly mad about it though. He expected it because there was nothing James Potter kept from the redhead. If he had someone like that, someone who knew him, who saw him completely and still stayed—he doubted he’d keep anything from them either.

Not that he was thinking about her in that way.

Not at all.

“I mean,” Lily said after a moment, tilting her head thoughtfully, “you have to let her join, right?”

Remus opened his mouth to argue, but she continued before he could.

“It’ll be a group of us, which would make it less tense,” she reasoned. “You wouldn’t have the pressure of it being one-on-one. Plus, it’d be nice not being the only girl stuck with you lot.”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I suppose that’s a fair point.”

Lily grinned. “It’s an excellent point, actually.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And what if it is tense? What if it’s weird?”

Lily gave him a look. “Then it’ll be weird,” she said simply. “And you’ll deal with it, like a grown adult, instead of running away and brooding over it in some dark corner of the castle.”

Remus groaned, but she wasn’t wrong.

The pair entered the library, and Remus nearly turned right back around.

Because there she was—sitting at one of the long wooden tables, completely lost in whatever she was studying, utterly unaware that she was the sole topic of their current conversation. He shouldn’t be surprised. Of course she’d be here. She was as much a creature of habit as he was. She always sat there, if the space was available, or on the second floor tucked away at one of the tables if the library was too crowded.

The only reason he knew that was because he also spent a lot of time in the library and just happened to notice.

Lily, none the wiser, kept talking, completely unbothered. Because unlike him, she wasn’t acutely aware of her presence, wasn’t pulled toward her like she was meant to be caught in her orbit. No, that was Remus’ plight to carry and his alone.

“Even if it is bad, right?” Lily continued. “Say it goes horribly wrong—then there’s always next time.”

Remus quickly leads them up the spiralling staircase and away from where she could potentially hear their conversation. He doesn’t respond to Lily until they’re sat at a table, that just happened to have a vantage point to their subject of conversation.

“What if it all goes to shit though,” Remus counters because he is nothing if not a doomer. ““What if I make a complete arse of myself, and she never wants to speak to me again?” He hesitated, then lowered his voice, almost as if saying it too loudly would make it real. “I will deny I ever said this if you tell anyone, but I think I might actually die if that happened. As in, keel over at that very moment and change the course of all of your lives.”

And then—of course—Lily grinned. She at least had the decency to not laugh in his face. It was when she did things like these that reminded him why she and James got on so well. They were both menaces in their own right.

“Oh,” she said, smugness creeping into her voice. “Oh, this is so much worse than I thought. Never thought I’d see grumpy Lupin so besotted. Don’t tell me you've already started scribbling her name in your notes with little hearts around them as well.”

Remus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Lily sing-songed, looking far too pleased with herself. “But I do love finally getting some honesty out of you.”

Remus risked a quick glance toward the table where she was still sitting, blissfully unaware of his absolute meltdown. Lily was right, of course, it was far worse than he was letting on.

Far, far worse. Not doodling her name bad… but give it another day and he’s not so sure.

“I’m opening up to you, please don’t make me regret it,” Remus groaned, burying his head in his hands. This was by far the most vulnerable he’s ever been. Turning into a monster was one thing, but talking about his feelings? A different kind of torture entirely.

Lily patted his shoulder in what was probably meant to be a reassuring gesture but felt more like amusement.

“Oh, Remus,” she sighed dramatically, “I would never make you regret this.”

He lifted his head just enough to shoot a glare at her.

“Fine,” Lily relents far quicker than Remus knows the boys would have.

“Let’s imagine it goes horribly wrong, right? You make a fool of yourself, like a proper arse of yourself, and you can’t string a sentence together or—”

“Get to the point,” Remus interrupted before he was sent into another spiral.

Lily smirked but, thankfully, complied. “The point is, even if you do somehow manage to make a complete arse of yourself—which, honestly, you won’t—what’s the worst that happens? You get embarrassed? You sulk for a week? Do you honestly think she’d hold it against you? She doesn’t seem like the sort of girl to do that.”

Remus doesn’t have a comeback for that, no retort because she’s right. She didn’t seem like that kind of girl.

She was kind.

Not in the way most people were—not in a self-serving, transactional way, where kindness was given with the expectation of something in return.

She was kind in a way that seemed to come as naturally to her as breathing.

It was in the way she spoke to people, in the way she listened, in the way she noticed the smallest things about people and remembered them. It was in the way she had waited for him, in the way she had given him an out but never turned away. The offer hadn’t felt like pressure for him to decide what he wanted then and there, it was just patience. A quiet, steady thing. A kind of understanding that made his chest ache, because who does that? Who waits like that? Who lets someone figure themselves out without expecting anything in return? The answer was no one. No one does that. Except her.

Because if Remus was feeling all these things, all these echoes of times long passed, then so was she. From the looks of it, she was handling it a lot better than he was. In the very least she wasn’t actively looking like she was constantly on the verge of a meltdown the way he so clearly did. Or was she just better at hiding it?

That made him freeze. He’d been so caught up in his own panic that he hadn’t thought about her. He felt so… selfish. Because for all his overthinking, all his agonizing over the possibility of losing her, he hadn’t considered that she might have been struggling with this too. That she might have been feeling the same echoes, the same pull, the same impossible weight of knowing—and yet, she had been the one who handled it with grace.

She had been the one to wait. To give him space. To let him run when every part of her had to have known that he was running from her.

Was that why she had refused to look at him in class?

Why she had avoided his gaze all day?

Was she preparing herself for the possibility that he would tell her that whatever this was—whatever it could be—was something he didn’t want?

The thought sent a sharp, unwelcome pang through his chest.

Because fuck, what if she was? What if she had already started pulling away—not because she had changed her mind, but because she thought he had?

Because of his hesitation, his avoidance, his complete and utter inability to deal with emotions like a normal person?

For the first time all day, panic coiled tight in his gut—not from fear of what he might feel, but from the realization that she might think he had already made his choice. He had spent days thinking about what their past was like that he ignored what this version of himself was causing. Did she think… did she think he didn’t want her? He couldn’t blame her if she did—because, honestly, what else was she supposed to think? Every single thing he had done since that night pointed to the exact same conclusion.

Avoiding her. Ignoring her. Running every time she got too close.

Of course, she thought he didn’t want her.

But that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

He wanted her biblically, in a way that was pathetic.

He wanted her in a way that ached, in a way that made every cell in his body hum when she was near.

If he ever allowed himself, he would drown in her, surround himself in her, let himself have her in every way he had denied himself. He would be at her beck and call the same way he teased James for.

Following after her without hesitation, hanging onto her every word, looking for excuses to be near her—he knew it. He’d seen it happen to James, watched his best mate fall so hopelessly for Lily that he had reshaped himself without even realizing it.

And Remus had laughed. Had mocked him for it.

But now? Now, he was just as bad. Worse, even, because at least James had tried. At least James had done something about it instead of skulking around like a man starved, pretending he wasn’t already half in love.

He doubted Lily, who was currently saying something to him that was going completely unheard, ever felt unwanted. He was willing to bet everything that James had never made her feel like it was a burden to be tied to her; but Remus was, even though it couldn’t be farther from the truth. That made his stomach twist in the worst way, because the last thing he ever wanted to do was make her feel like she wasn’t wanted. Like the burden lied with her and not with him and the beast that called his body home.

For the first time in his life, Remus was about to do something he’d never dream of doing. He was going to her, let her know that whatever was going on in that beautiful head of hers was wrong. He was going to tell her that his inability to handle his shit had nothing to do with ehr and everything to do with him being a complete and utter prat.

“I’m… I’ll be back,” is all he offers the bewildered redhead before he’s up from his seat. He moves, not allowing himself the time to overthink the way he’s sure he will later. Instead, he takes the stairs two at a time. The walk to her feels simultaneously like the longest trek of his life and the shortest. The wolf howls with each step closer, eager to finally be close to her once more.

Remus stops behind her seat, with the realization that he hadn’t exactly planned how he would tell her, just that he knew he had to. He stood behind her chair for a minute, contemplating how to even begin a conversation. He was saved, or punished; the jury was still out, when she glanced behind her.

“What… did you need something?” she asked, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she looked up at him. He saw her hands twitched, as if ready to close her book and gather her things. Did she think he was about to ask her to leave?

Remus felt like he was going to pass out, having her eyes on him again made that same pressure settle in his chest, but it didn’t feel as crushing. He probably looked like a right creep, standing there silently until she had turned around and then continued to remain silent.

“Remus?” came her voice, twinged with worry.

He felt his heart skip a beat, it was the first time she’d said his name—well his first name. She’d normally refer to him as ‘Lupin’ the way most people did. Hearing his name from her lips though… Merlin there wasn’t a better sound. He cleared his throat, pushing through the warmth beginning to settle on his face and the lump that threatened to make him unable to form a sentence.

“We usually sit near the back, by the fireplace. At the Three Broomsticks, I mean. Usually one of us goes ahead to make sure the spot isn’t taken, typically it’s me, there was this whole thing with Pete and we just don’t really task him with it anymore. So if you get there early I’ll… be there so,” Remus rambles and he can’t seem to stop himself even though every cell in his body is screaming at him to shut up. “Not saying that you do. You can get there anytime you want. Not that I’m telling you you have to go or-”

Her confusion melts into something softer, into something that makes the noise of the library fade. Being seen by her was a vulnerable thing, it was exposed nerves and crumbling walls. Remus had a feeling that being known by her would be a different thing entirely.

“I’m not good at this,” he confesses to her, like a penitent sinner seeking forgiveness from the only one that could grant it. “I don’t… me being stupid and flighty doesn’t mean that I don’t…”

He doesn’t know how to continue because if he does he knows he would have to admit all the things he’s been too much of a coward to. He would have to admit that he had already been half in love with her before this whole mess started and now it was just all… meant to be? He wasn’t meant to die alone? That, yes, fate had been cruel but not that cruel? How is he meant to tell her that all of this has thrown his whole life off kilter and he’s desperately trying to make sense of it all? He can’t say that, at least not now, so instead he’ll give her the only truth he can.

“I want you to go,” it comes out like a breath he’d been holding in for too long. “I think you might find my friends incredibly annoying and I’m afraid I’ll make a total fool of myself in front of you, but I want you there.”

He pauses, and before he can think better of it he adds in a whisper, “I’m… I’m trying.”

It’s not perfect. It’s not enough. It doesn’t erase the way he ran, the way he still feels like he’ll turn tail any minute. But it was all he could offer her. He figured she’d tell him that he was a moron for thinking it would change anything, that it would mean anything, but then she did something he hadn’t expected at all.

She smiled at him and the warmth of it rivaled the sun, it melted some part of him he had long since let freeze. No one had ever looked at him like that—like he was something worth looking at. She tilted her head in that way she did when she was thinking something over, considering it with great care before she responded. “I’ll be there. I won’t be able to make it early, I have had plans with a few friends I’d hate to cancel, but I’ll be there.”

Remus nodded and held back from asking further questions. He wouldn’t ask her which friend. He wouldn’t ask her how long she’d think she’d be. He wouldn’t ask her what their plans were. Even though he wanted to know everything she thought, did, or wanted, he’d resist.

“Yeah… yeah of course. We’re usually there for a while so you can stop by whenever you want,” he can feel his heartbeat in his ears, but he doesn’t stumble over his words the way he thought he would. He was freaking the fuck out—of course—but he didn’t do all the usual things he did when speaking to someone who wasn’t one of the few close friends he had.

He didn’t break eye contact.

He didn’t let the words die in his throat when he didn’t know how to continue.

He didn’t shut down.

He just stood there, before her—vulnerable, exposed, raw, and trying.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

“You need to go,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Keeping her eyes open was a herculean task and yet she tried. Sisyphean in nature, as if she could remain by his side by sheer force of will, “you shouldn’t be here. You’ll get—”

“Oh, sweet girl, I’m not going anywhere. Haven’t I already said that,” his voice mirrored hers, soft but laced with a worry that didn’t go unnoticed. He dabbed at her heated skin with a damp cloth, hoping to at least give her a modicum of comfort. He shushed her gently when she tried to protest, “Let me care for you, okay? It’s what I was created for.”

There was nothing more he could do. No magical cure. No miracle to come, no matter how much he prayed or bartered his own life for hers. So, this was all he could do. He could only watch as another cough wracked through her frail body. Could only watch as another stained cloth was added to the pile, stained with a crimson that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

He brushed the hair from her face, letting his touch linger—for her comfort or his own, he wasn’t sure. Her skin was too warm, her breath too shallow—he knew what was next. He had known since the doctor came, he knew it when the apothecaries could only offer tonics that could ease her pain but not cure it. But knowing did little to prepare him. How could one even begin to prepare themselves for the single greatest loss of their lives? How was he meant to

“I’m so tired,” as if she did not spend most of her days as of late lost in dreams, hidden away where the pain could not find her.

“I know, my heart, I know,” he suppressed his sobs, her last moments would not be in the presence of his sorrow. That could wait, for now all that mattered was her. All that ever mattered was her. “Best to get your rest, hm? Being the fairest girl is such work, that must be why you are so tired.”

Her eyes, unfocused and seeing a world he could not, met his, “Such work.”

The next words from her lips broke his heart even further, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have a thing to be sorry for,” he responded firmly and filled with so much love it was about to break his heart in two—a piece for her to take so that she is not alone for too long in the place he could not follow her and the other to shrivel in his chest. “Not a thing.”

“I’m afraid,” she muttered, a moment of lucidity that had come so rarely in the passing days. She sounded so small and he could do nothing to shield her from it. The place she would go would be one he could not follow her to.

“You won’t be alone for long, my heart. I will be there before you know it,” he memorized her face for a final time. “Just wait for me,” he whispered as he carded his fingers through her damp hair.

Her eyes shut and they did not open again. The sobs that he refused to let her see now tore through him with a vengeance. The sound of a man who had just lost everything that made his days worth living. He peppered her face with kisses, for each time she had refused. If asked, he wouldn’t be able to say how long he kneeled there beside her, just that he had.

He did not live to see next spring.

If she was only permitted nineteen, then he would not witness a twentieth without her. It was for the best, really. His sweet girl, his heart, had left him there and he had to find her.

It was his job, it was what he was created for.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Unravel Me Masterlist

Taglist: @a1ienmush, @boromoony, @kitkatkl, @moonyswifee, @mxg111, @daydreamandforget

#marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #sirius black #james potter #lily evans #remus and lily are besties #they told me so #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin angst #remus lupin hurt/comfort

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sitepathos · 1 month ago

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Hello. I really enjoy your story, "From Mold to Gold". The story is very well written that I could feel the emotions the reader is feeling. Please keep up the good work, but take your time. The real world can be overwhelming, and sometimes, writer's block can get in the way.

I was wondering if you have heard a song called "Thank You for Hating Me" by Citizen Soldier. When I heard that song, it made me think of your story. I imagine the reader going to a karaoke bar in Las Vegas to blow off some steam or something, and when they noticed the batfam there, the reader decided to show them how they feel (takes place after chapter 11). With this song, it would show that the reader is the bigger person form moving on from their past and growing into someone better. At the same time, telling the batfam to leave them alone and paint them in a bad light, even though everyone read The Daily Planet.

I thought this would be a good little one-shot or thought that I had. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Love your story. I can't wait for the next chapter.

#ask #from gold to mold

I swear, when you sent that ask, I was already halfway done with 12 and when I saw Vegas, I legit thought you had future sight, or something! I’m serious, I freaked out a little!

Also, I have to thank you for introducing me to this song! It’s amazing and I swear it could be the song of this entire series! It fits Reader to a T!

But as for your ask, you’d actually do amazing at a karaoke bar since the Megamycete has absorbed so countless people with musical abilities from across the ages, many of them quite talented at singing. If you wanted to, you could easily make a career of it if you wanted to.

But, if you were to perform “Thank You for Hating Me,” you’d definitely look them in the eye the entire time.

While you’re on stage, they can hear the pain, suffering, and hatred in every word. They knew they treated you wrong, but hearing you sing really drives home just how much they hurt you all those years.

Bruce would keep his emotionless mask intact (mostly), but he nearly cries when he hears the line “for making me feel I’m not enough.” It’s then he realizes that he really never took the time to get to know you. When he first met you, he was dealing with Jason’s death by burying himself in his work and he was too stupid to see himself in you that night in Crime Alley; and when his family grew, he still treated you like an outsider because he knew you weren’t fit to be a vigilante with them and you lacked the capability to aid them like Barbara. No matter what excuses he can muster, he made you feel like you were worthless and there’s no changing that.

Dick cries practically during the entire time. Seriously, this song just puts all his insecurities about his treatment of you on blast and he feels even more of a failure of a big brother. The title is what started it and he’s just blubbering, “I can never hate you, baby bird!” If there’s one thing in this life Dick holds dear to his heart, it’s his title as the big brother of the Wayne Family and you singing this song emphasizes that he failed and it’s haunted him ever since Alfred reminded him that you exist.

Jason, while upset over you putting your feelings about them in song form, feels closer to you as the song gives him a glimpse into how you see things. Ever since he learned that you were kidnapped (in his territory, no less) and were beaten to near death and then shot in the head like an animal, he’s been a powder keg just waiting to blow as it brought up all the memories of his death at the hands of Joker. To him, the two of you are kindred spirits, especially since you were brought back to life just like him. He also feels a connection to you when you say the line “for seething me off like a loaded gun” because he’s known his temper has always been his greatest weakness, even before meeting Bruce and when he hears the anger in your voice while you’re on stage, he sees a younger version of himself in you. He’s spent years running his mouth about how there’s no one in the family he can relate to and he was too fucking stupid to see how alike the two of you are.

Tim, while feeling like shit during your performance, spends the time to analyze your singing and he ponders if you were always capable of singing like this (how could he have missed that?!) or if the Megamycete has given you the ability to sing like this? He also can’t help but feel targeted when you look him in the eye when you say the lines “to hide how much you hate yourself,” “go get some help,” and “cause you’re always gonna be alone.” It’s like you know all his insecurities and you know just how to pick at them. Of course, with how they treated you like you didn’t exist for years, it would make sense that you more about them then they previously thought. He’ll have to update his profile on you when he gets back home… after he gets done crying in the shower, of course.

Steph and Cass are both in the same boat because they both cringe at the line “for showing no love” because they’re both guilty of that. Steph used you when she first got to the manor, showing you affection for a week and then discarding you like some toy when she eventually got bored with you because you weren’t a vigilante and Cass didn’t give you a second glance when she deemed you weak and not a threat. Back then, you weren’t a part of the family or even a person to them and now, they’d give anything to go back and fix their mistakes.

Damian, like Bruce, keeps a mask on the entire time, but on the inside, he’s torn up. He knows when he first arrived, he wasn’t the friendliest person and his upbringing with the LoA didn’t have room for any familiar affections. He grew up with knowledge that he was the rightful heir to the Bat and the Demon, but when he learned of your existence, he felt threatened as it would make sense that the firstborn son would inherit his legacy and so he attacked you. And once he found out you had no training and no way to defend yourself, he went out of his way to demean you so you would never rise above your station and threaten his position as the next head of the Wayne Family. But, in recent years, he’s learned the importance of family and has slowly come to respect and build a rapport with each of his siblings… even Drake. But due to his arrogance, he scorned you, his only blood brother, and has no idea on how he’s going to fix it.

Will this change their minds about bringing you back to Gotham and convince them to leave you alone once and for all? Hell no. They’re too far into their delusions and there’s no way of bringing them out of it. All it does is just add fuel to the fire.

Also, people record this and post it online, one video titled “Forgotten Wayne Blasts Neglectful Family.” It gets 50m views within an hour of its posting.

#asks #from gold to mold

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theafterglow83 · 11 months ago

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Stray thoughts from an unhinged mind caused by a song called Robin

Since my teens, I have always been a Karlie Kloss fan. No amount of vitriol from the Swifty’s has ever strayed or strained my conviction that Karlie is on many levels, and aside from being absolutely gorgeous, a better human being than Taylor Swift.

By that I mean she seems to project a warmth and a level of kindness and humanity out into the world that is so pure and honest, when compared to Taylors, sometimes vengeful and darker persona ~as well as her being Queen Mother to one of the worlds most vindictive and exhausting cults who would gladly fillet anyone at “Mother’s “ request. Taylor (the brand) has made a career and a fortune from feeding her tales of romantic misfortune and presumed ex lovers to her hungry mob with merchandise to match.

Karlie on the other hand has a nurturing and supportive side to her and don’t let her beautiful and seductive exterior fool you for below that sultry surface she gives off a warm and fuzzy golden vibe- like a puppy. She’s sophisticated, highly intelligent, NYC chic and street smart , often silly and maturing like fine wine while somehow becoming more beautiful as she ages. She also appears to be one Hell of a good mother to those babies.

All that being said about their personalities is exactly why I believe Karlie’s sunshine is the perfect match for Taylor and her moody, broken, impulsive ,often over indulgent, midnight rain personality. Not only are they equal in status - they have a Yin Yang balance to them - Only that sunshine can dry up the rain in Taylor .

I’ll continue.

While listening to songs off of the TTPD I was stopped dead in my tracks when I came to the song, Robin. I listened three times and found a tear rolling down my right cheek. I was choked up and the tiny hairs on my arms stood up . To say I was moved would be an understatement. There was something so raw, so pure and so loving in those lyrics. I had to sit with my thoughts for a while but I feel the need to share them now among those who i consider “my people”.

The Kaylors.

Sidebar confession: Yes, I’m a Kaylor.

I firmly believe Taylor Swift, and Karlie Kloss had a long running romantic relationship. They were more than friends. They were lovers too. The level of denial it takes to doubt that is astonishing. It wasn’t just Kissgate that sealed the deal. It’s the way those two looked at each other and communicated in a secret language all their own. They were deeply in love.

I believe it all started prior to the public meet up at the VS Fashion Show and even long before the “your kitchen or mine cookie “tweet.

I believe Taylor and Karlie first met when Taylor was showing up at fashion shows that Karlie was walking in as far back as 2009. Where they had a relationship then? Probably not because they were both involved with others but the sparks were flying. Thats when the foundation was laid. The attraction was there. The seeds planted. Destiny and the Universe did the rest.

Think Love Story lyrics

“We were both young when I first saw you” which I believe Taylor wrote about Karlie and which also happens to be Karlies favorite song. I believe they had an ongoing relationship that continued on until late 2017-early 2018 and then I believe something happened and they broke up, as many long-term relationships often do. My guts tell me it was cheating and it was on Taylor’s part and the regret from that will haunt Taylor for her entire life because it caused the trajectory of their path to change.

Karlie married in 2018 yet many speculate they were still together and the unofficial story is the real trouble actually came in mid 2019.

Taylor was furious over the masters, fingers were pointing everywhere, cheating rumors flew. This entire story certainly has all the drama of a Netflix series that could easily do 8 seasons

There’s so much more to this Masters incident than the public is aware of. Also the fact that Josh’s families company ~ the Carlisle Group provided the funding to Scooter is an often overlooked storyline.

Was Taylor angry at Karlie for that but how could Karlie control that if she was even in that loop of that drama. Or~ was there more -because in any good mystery - there’s always several layers more .

What did Scooter have to leverage getting that kind of money from them to buy the masters? Being Karlie’s manager at the time perhaps he has something on her or Taylor or both of them and used it as that leverage . It’s a whole other rabbit hole that I don’t have time to visit right now but regardless Taylor is still angry about to this very day which tells me it goes way deeper and my gut feeling is that Taylor’s dad was the one involved with knowing things and not Karlie Kloss who got fed to the sharks over the situation.

So I’m going on record here saying I never believed Karlie had anything to do with Masters Heist. I believe that story was used as an explanation to explain their separation. I know there’s a whole other level of messy lore involving this and a love blackout and Trumps election and Karlie’s association with the Kushner’s but I’m going to skip over that season and move on -except to say that it was absolutely shameful the level of hate Karlie was forced to endure because of that and still her sun shinned while she was being made the villain online and much of it still continues to this day. At any point during that scandal Karlie could have spoken out but she didn’t. She quietly took one for the team.

I’m not going to pretend that I know what happened during that murky period or what is happening now - because honestly -I do not…but there have been a strange set clues and way too many “koincidences to simply chalk up to being coincidences.

It’s just a gut feeling but I also don’t believe their connection went fully went away or ever will for that matter. They are and will forever be tied together even in the times they are apart but I kinda think they reunited ( again) in early to mid 2020.

I’ve read all the theories. I’ve heard all the rumors ,I’ve been to the rabbit hole, I’ve climbed out, I’ve fallen back in, and most days now you’ll find me sitting on the edge dangling my feet still and kinda wondering. I live my life ~ they live theirs.

So am I a LSK?

No, not really, but some days …ok, maybe. You see for as much as I try to say no…there’s just this tiny string I can’t help but see so I keep my feet planted on the ground but my mind open.

By open I mean open to the possibility that Taylor and Karlie are in one of those kind of “relationships” where as hard as they try ~they just can’t seem to quit each other and they go through periods of on and off times. “pauses” is what I like to call the brakes or bumps along the way. You know that couple that’s over but they’re never really over ?

Where are they now? I have no idea.

Taylor has another year of touring and promoting and probably Travis. My money says Taylor Swift will be the halftime show at next years Super Bowl.

Karlie, along with her modeling contacts ( Carolina Herrera, Estée Lauder, Donna Karen etc ) is venturing into the business world. Along with running Kode with Klossy, she’s CEO of her newly formed media company. She bought I-D magazine and also Life magazine, which Josh also invested in , this year. She’s got a lot on her plate

Yes, Karlie is married but is she really married in the traditional sense of what we all consider marriage to be? On the surface, yes… but once again- the layers and the lore here is incredible.

What a character she’d be on that Netflix show I imagine in my head . Just give her an Emmy already.

Does she love Josh? I’m absolutely sure she does- but the real question is…is she IN love with Josh? You know- romantic love -which, I as an observer ~don’t believe she is or ever has been. You can just kinda tell and no matter how many pictures she posts the connection just isn’t there and whenever I see her with her beautiful babies (even if he’s in the photo) she gives off that “ single mother vibe “

That level of chemistry, no matter how the pictures are posed~ or the hand in hand walks are staged -the passion ~ the look in their eyes - it just isn’t there and honestly it never was.

They have always given off that bff energy and frankly ~ Karlie’s friendship with her “big brother “ Derek actually feels more real, relaxed and genuine.Then there are the gay rumors ( past and present) surrounding their entire little multiverse ~but we won’t go into them right now either. We’d be here all night.

And yes, Taylor has had her share of public relationships but have they been real? Have they had their moments? probably. Did some become more than PR for a brief period of time. Possibly She’s been linked to everyone she even walks by or talks to but somehow it all pales and fades in time. I’m sure there have been flings along the way but flings don’t fly and usually run their course in that 9 1/2 week period that flings seem to take.

If I’m being honest, as I observe from the treetops all of Taylor’s relationships and Karlies relationship with Josh, they never reach the level of the real connection and happiness that I saw between Taylor and Karlie. That’s something you just can’t fake or reproduce with another .

Whatever is going on with Travis is so cringey and sadly embarrassing.I tend to think it’s PR but if it’s real then he truly is her obnoxious karma and karma isn’t usually a good thing. But hey the moneys good. Maybe they’ll even get lavender married so she can stay in her closet and continue to throw red meat to the $wifties.

The future is yet unwritten.

All that being said, I’ll get back to my original point of this ramble and that’s a song called Robin.

So yes, I’ve heard the rumors, I’ve read the theories, I’ve seen photographs of visual evidence. Karlie Kloss was in Los Angeles during the pandemic, the same place where Taylor was in fort part of 2020. When she returned to NYC if you count the months - she was pregnant even if she didn’t look it. I also believe Karlie was there in the shadows during the Long Pond Studio recordings in Upstate NY. Jack kind of gave it away when he referenced “Joe the dog” as being who he thought Taylor was talking about when she said “ Joe and I wrote a song”

I’ve also heard the rumor that there was a ceremony between them that they tried to pass off as a ceremony between Taylor and Joe which Tree later denied that there was ever a ceremony of “any type”.

Ok buckle up because here it comes

I’ve seen the “turkey baster”( IVF ) post that Karlie made. Like who uses a turkey baster in May? What an odd thing to do unless you were signaling an IVF pregnancy situation. Regardless ~ she was extremely happy that day.

I’ve seen the cinnamon buns post ( think the expression “buns in the oven ) that Taylor made a few days later back in May 2020. She was “proud” of her cinnamon buns.

Happy & proud …hum

Is that a crazy set of coincidences? Hand on whatever holy book you set before me ~ I’d have to say “yes”

And it’s Absolutely crazy considering the fact that Levi was born a little over nine months later.

Add in the fact of how emotional Taylor got accepting her Grammy for Folklore when Arron thanked his “ wife and kids “during the acceptance speech.

For a few moments there you could feel the raw emotion in her as she nearly burst into tears andJack tried to console her. Blonde was gutted. It cut deep.

Sidebar:

Yes Aaron has a son named Robin but he’s 9 years old and other than the name cleverly used for gentle cover of the truth in case damage control is ever needed~ there is no connection to that child or a secret, no showmanship to cover it up or anything that would make Taylor react as she did. Other than his name there is no connection to the words in the song

But the fact that Levi’s birth was announced during the Grammys absolutely does connect.

So I’ll just put a pin in that and move on.

Listening to that ballad yesterday rocked my entire world . It was so soft, gentle and living. So heart wrenching that I just let my emotions flow through me as my mind wandered back gathering and processing all the previous rumors and lore I had heard along the way. It left me rattled as it tumbled through memories. Could it all have been true?

So now I’m just gonna say it out loud running the risk of being attacked and also sounding like a supermarket tabloid…here goes “could Levi be Karlie’s and Taylor’s child?”

I know it sounds crazy…secret love child but …

I’m not trying to out anyone and I want to respect the fact that a child is involved here. Honestly I had second and third thoughts about posting this but if I’m being real ~ it’s also a collective of things that have been shared openly about Taylor and Karlie here for years. Somehow the song was like a puzzle piece that snapped into place.

…those loving words ,the emotion in Taylor‘s voice as she sings about her strong heartfelt attachment to a young toddler, as she encourages him in being wild and free in his wonder years, playing with abandon and roaring at the dinosaurs~

There was real love in those words

Looking out his window over his kingdom (NYC) and speaking gibberish

She also advocates for him keeping his innocence for as long as possible and then speaks of a secret that a inner circle of people have chosen to keep from him” in sweetness” to protect him and the “showmanship” to cover up that secret that he has no idea of.

And as she watches his unabashed play in his toddler purity she prophesies there will come a time in the future when the world he faces will have harsh words for him and she reminds him that he will bounce back like he now does on his trampoline.

“ and you have no idea

Buried down deep and out of your reach

the secret we all vowed

to keep it from you in sweetness

strings tied to levers

slowed down clocks tethers

all the showman ship

to keep it from you in sweetness

way to go, tiger

I’m not crying , you are and Levi looks just like his mommy 🤍

Let’s keep this in the family ✌️🤍🏳️‍🌈

God I love this show .

Stay tuned for next season

#karlie kloss #taylor swift #kaylor

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waynes-multiverse · 4 months ago

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Polaris – Chapter 10

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, angst, heartbreak, everyone being all over the place, one very tough conversation...

Word Count: 6.0k

A/N: Ooof, what a week! The whole fam came down with Covid and I was barely holding the fort down 😮‍💨 But in the midst of all the stress and chaos, all your kind comments brought me so much joy! I really appreciate you guys 🥹🤍

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 10: It Matters

Pick me. Don’t go.

Those words had pervaded Beau’s mind and tormented his heart all night. It had been a mistake to utter them. He should’ve never said them in the first place. They forced you into a corner, and he had never wanted to do that to you. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol in his bloodstream or the sheer love in his heart that drove him to say them, but he hated himself for his blatant selfishness.

How could he do that? What else were you supposed to say to him? Of course, you’d stay, even when Beau knew it was wrong.

You were still peacefully asleep next to him, unaware of the train wreck of thoughts that circled his mind in an endless loop. The smell of you lingered in the air and pulled him closer to you. Every fiber of his being wanted to make you his again, love you the way his muddled head had convinced him only he could. But he abstained, and it was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Leaving you always was.

“Hey, morning.” You stretched with a soft smile and glanced behind you at Beau. He lay awake next to you, forest green eyes opened wide and staring at the ceiling. Internally, you sighed at his brooding. You rolled onto your stomach and began kissing a path from his throat down to his chest, your fingers trailing his taut skin.

“Y/N, stop. Please, darlin’…”

With a deep sigh, you crossed your arms on top of his chest and rested your chin on them, looking up at him. His fingers brushed tenderly through your hair, but he still didn’t look at you.

“Talk to me. What’s going on in that pretty and rumbling head of yours?” you prompted softly and pecked his chest, just above his wildly beating heart.

“I can’t do this. We can’t do this…”

You lifted your head and found his eyes, forcing him to look at you. “You want me to go?”

His features hardened as he fought for an answer. After a moment, he shook his head. “No.”

But his actions contradicted his words. He rose from the bed and dragged a palm over his face and through his hair. His feet found solid ground, but his body remained anchored to the bed as if he was torn between leaving and staying with you.

“I shouldn’t have said those things last night. It wasn’t fair to you…” His head fell into his hands. “I don’t wanna force you to make a decision. I’m the wrong choice.”

You straightened behind him and stroked his back. “You’re not the wrong choice,” you insisted. “And if you don’t wanna make a decision for me, then maybe you shouldn’t push me away either.”

“I had no right to say those things to you, Y/N. I was drunk and emotional… I shoulda never let things get this far last night. I was being selfish,” he stated, and you could feel him pull away from you, like he’d done so many times before. It was an all too familiar pattern. “But I have my head on straight now,” he declared, the irony lost on him, but the determined and harsh tone of his voice shattered your heart. No one did it better than him. He made breaking your heart an art.

“Beau…”

“No!” he silenced you sharply. Your hand dropped from his shoulder. His face softened as he looked back at you. “You should be with him, Y/N. You’re just confused right now. I know once you’ve had some time to think about it, you’re gonna regret it, so I’m backing down, okay? Just take me outta the equation.”

Anger flared up inside of you and surged through your body. “Don’t ever fucking tell me how I feel,” you snapped. “You wanna be a coward again? Fine, consider yourself out. I’m leaving.”

March 2021

Beau’s head was a thundering earthquake as he left his motel room. The desert sun was stinging and blistering hot as he walked no more than two blocks down the street to the little plaza of food trucks. And plaza was a nice word for it, really. It was just a rundown parking lot, but the food was delicious nonetheless. God knows, with his punishing hangover, he craved something greasy and unhealthy.

Unfortunately, the fourteen tequilas had ironically not been enough to cause a total blackout – or maybe his body had just ejected them too soon. Either way, he remembered every embarrassing and shameful bit and piece of last night’s events. How he had pathetically sulked, how he had puked his goddam guts out in front of you, how you had still taken care of him and stood by his side, how he had audaciously hit on you – multiple times – and how you had angrily shot him down.

All of these glorious moments were saved on his hard drive, able to torment him for eternity.

It was already late morning, close to noon, but the whole team was gathered on a picnic table. Some were enjoying breakfast after a nightly stake-out, some were taking their lunch break or enjoying their day off. You sat between Cody and Jordan with an extraordinarily big cup of joe, both guys seemingly bringing their A-game in the flirting department. Beau rolled his eyes underneath his dark sunglasses and took a seat across from you. Judging by the sheer size of your coffee, he assumed you didn’t have the best night’s sleep either.

“Hey, mornin’,” Beau greeted the group with a tired nod. He noticed you shift in your seat and avoided looking at him like it was a challenge. It was safe to assume you were mad at him.

“Hey, Arlen.” Amused, Cody grinned at him with all his teeth. “Back so soon? Thought you were supposed to be gone the whole week. What, wife kick you out? You look like shit.”

One clumsy joke already hit bullseye, going straight to his sore point.

Beau only chuckled politely. “Nah, Carla just had a work thing, so…” he lied. He wasn’t ready to get into his whole divorce drama with all of the guys just now – not on so little sleep and such a major hangover. “Guess I chatted a little too much with Don Julio last night.”

The guys laughed and started to remember their own recent drinking escapades. But not you. You let out a small scoff and shook your head, jumping up from your seat.

“I’m gonna get a refill. You guys need anything?” They guys shook their heads at your question, and you sauntered back over to the coffee truck.

“I’m gonna grab somethin’ to eat, too. Excuse me.” Beau cleared his throat and got up as well, the group continuing to chat, unbothered.

He walked straight up to you, and if he had thought earlier he had only imagined your anger, he was damn sure now. You didn’t even try to hide it. Carla was the passive-aggressive type, but he remembered Randy had once referred to you as “sharp and direct like a knife,” which was definitely the case here. As soon as Beau approached you, you exhaled an exasperated sigh and rolled your eyes back.

“Look, can we talk?”

“I think you’ve done enough of that last night, gaucho,” you retorted, annoyed.

Beau pursed his lips. Alright, second try. “I get that you’re mad. You have every right to be. I just wanna apologize for the way I behaved.”

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m not mad,” you remarked wryly, shaking your head. You then belligerently met his gaze. “Refresh my memory, though. What exactly did you do again?”

Beau let out a deep exhale, frowning slightly. “You really gonna make me spell it out?”

“Yup.” Coolly, you took a sip of your coffee.

Beau sighed once more, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I was an ass last night.”

“And?”

“And… I’m sorry I hit on you,” he admitted ruefully.

You grinned victoriously but not any less furious. “There it is.” Grabbing your giant cup, you waltzed back over to the table, Beau quickly catching up with you before you had reached your destination and were within earshot again.

“Y/N, c’mon! I thought you’d forgive me once I said it,” he argued.

You snorted a scoff. “I never said that. ‘Sides, that apology was kinda half-assed.”

“Alright, what d’you want me to say, huh?” he prompted with an impatient huff.

“Hmm, I would’ve preferred, ‘I’m sorry I tried to use you as my rebound and fuck you last night after my wife left me, even though you’re the only friend I have,’” you fired sassily, watching his frown deepen. “How does that sound? Sound about right to you?”

“I did not try and use you as my rebound,” he shot back.

Your brow arched. “No? What was that then last night?”

“That was…” Beau couldn’t think of an answer, because he didn’t quite know himself what kind of devil had possessed him that night. But he did know even his drunken alter ego wouldn’t use you as a sheer rebound. However, he couldn’t very well say that now, could he? “I-I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.”

“Yeah, thought so…” With a disappointed scoff, you pushed past him and walked back to the group.

Since bolting out of Beau’s trailer in nothing more than an old tee and some mere sweatpants, with a pile full of random laundry in your hands, you hadn’t even inhaled your caffeine intake this morning yet. And God, you needed it, especially after getting dressed with miss-matched clothes in the backseat of your car in the parking lot of a Walmart. You knew this wasn’t rock bottom, but you were eerily sailing close to it.

You could’ve driven straight to the hospital and gotten your coffee there, but a part of you wanted to avoid Randy for as long as you could. That same part also felt incredibly guilty and like the worst person in the world for even thinking that.

Was it crazy you didn’t want to see Randy? You had missed, cried, and grieved this man for years, praying he’d come back to you. Now he had, your prayers answered, and all you could do was hide.

But no matter how hard you tried to force yourself to feel the same way, it wasn’t right anymore. The flutter in your heart was gone. The urge to touch and kiss him had disappeared. Holding his hand felt weird. Your conversations didn’t flow like they used to. He was once your best friend, but now he felt like a stranger.

Or maybe you were the strange one.

And maybe Beau was right, and all you needed was more time to get used to everything again. Start from scratch. Go on first dates and get to know one another again until strange would become familiar. Maybe you even owed it to Randy to try and give it a shot.

The thing was, though, you didn’t want to even try. Twenty-four hours ago, you’d been happy with your life exactly the way it was – as terrible as that made you sound.

But didn’t it matter how you felt?

Your search for coffee, distraction, and escapism led you to the Blue Fox Diner once again. And as it was a habit with small towns, you immediately ran into some familiar faces. This time, you met Carla and Emily there. The former was in a much better mood, even gifting you a smile.

“Morning, ladies. Seems like the need for coffee keeps us united, huh?” you quipped, but only Emily giggled a little.

Carla’s brow furrowed slightly, on the other hand. This time out of concern instead of anger. “Hey, uh… How-, uhm, how are you holding up?”

Realization instantly dawned on you – escapism was nothing but a sham. “Beau told you?”

“Yeah, but he just sent a quick text, saying Randy was alive and at the hospital. I guess I should be happy his communication skills are getting slightly better,” Carla joked wryly, earning her a small glare from her daughter. “But, uhm, I’ve tried calling him multiple times since then. He isn’t answering. Is everything alright? How’s he doing?”

“Uh, yeah, everything’s… well, not fine, but Beau’s… I honestly don’t know. He’s hanging in there? I-… He’s just taking it hard, I guess,” you replied in a stammer. You didn’t know what else to say. The whole thing was as messy as your answer.

“Yeah, okay.” Carla nodded, sighing. “I can’t believe Randy’s back and actually alive… I’m glad Beau has you, though. Watch out for him? And yourself?”

“Sure, yeah.” You swallowed harshly and forced a polite smile to your lips. How could you look out for him, though, if he kept pushing you away? If anyone knew what that was like, it was ironically Carla. “Hey, uh, can I ask you a legal question?”

“Sure. It’s about Randy, isn’t it?” Carla gave you a knowing smile. She’d always been the best lawyer you’d ever known for reasons exactly like this one. She could anticipate someone’s intentions from miles away.

“Yes, uhm… if your spouse comes back from the dead, are you still married?” Judging by Carla’s amused smile, she had somehow expected a weird question like that as well.

“Yeah, are you?” Emily repeated your question with a curiously inquiring look at her mother and a scrunched nose.

Carla chuckled a little. “No, once someone is declared dead, may that be true or not, a marriage cannot be reinstated,” she explained and then paused for a moment, pursing her lips. “However, you can always contest it in front of a judge. In rare circumstances like this, I’m sure there can be something done about it… if that’s what you want. Is it… what you want?”

Your mouth opened but couldn’t produce an answer. Was it what you wanted?

“Right. None of my business,” Carla said and raised her hands in surrender before she placed one gently on your shoulder. “Call if you need something. Anytime, okay?”

You nodded with an appreciative smile. “Thanks.”

“Come on, Em. Let’s go.” Carla gestured for her daughter to follow her outside, but the teenager stayed next to you.

“Can I talk to Aunt Y/N for a minute alone?”

Carla shot you a look, asking if it was okay. You gave a nod in return, telling her it was fine.

“Alright, but be quick. I don’t want you to be late for school,” Carla reminded her and strolled ahead to the car.

“What’s up, trailblazer?” You grinned at Emily and tried to keep it light, although you could tell by the look on her face that she was planning on the opposite.

“Don’t leave Dad,” she told you, her brown eyes pleading. She was giving you the full puppy dog look, and all you could think about was how much she resembled her father like this. “He’s finally happy and like the dad I used to know again. He was better when we moved here, but I could tell that he was missing you. And those last few weeks, he was smiling all the time and not just ‘cause of a bad joke he was proud of. Like, legit smiling. For real. It was kinda creepy. But he was happy. Really, really, really happy. Please don’t take that away from him.”

“Em…” You exhaled a deep sigh. What were you supposed to say to that? You were flattered she thought you had so much to do with her father’s wellbeing? “I-… I don’t wanna hurt your dad ‘cause I do love him. But there’s also Uncle Randy to think about. He’s your dad’s best friend, you know? Neither of us want to hurt him. And your dad’s–…” An ass sometimes. “–difficult. It’s complicated, okay? There’s a lot to think about.”

Emily nodded thoughtfully, but she seemed to understand. “I get it. I just don’t want him to be sad again and lose himself like he did back then.”

You squeezed her shoulder and looked at her deeply. “I promise you it’s never gonna be like last time again. Your dad knows that now, too.”

“I hope so…”

As Emily left the diner, you finally got back to your coffee. Apparently, it was an Arlen family trait to confront you with some heavy-hitters before your first drop of caffeine.

“Heard your husband is back from the dead. Is that true?”

A voice drew your attention to a man behind the counter with chin-length hair and a beard. “Donno, right?” The man nodded, and you replied, “Yeah, he is.”

“Is he a zombie?”

You pursed your lips and took a sip from your cup, wishing it contained whiskey at this point. “I don’t think so, no.”

“If he is, you need to smash his brain. Only way to kill ‘em,” Donno informed you helpfully.

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied warily. If Beau hadn’t already filled you in on all things Donno, you would’ve thought the guy was insane. Well, maybe he still was.

“You’re welcome. I’m good at smashing brains. Just call if you need my help.” Donno gave you an oddly crooked smile. “Aren’t you dating the sheriff? Is that true?”

“Also true.”

Fucking small towns…

“Want to hear my vote?”

You exhaled a small sigh and sent him a tight-lipped smile. “Sure. Why not?” Might as well, right? Maybe you should make use of the gossipy small town charm altogether and start a Helena-wide poll.

“Sheriff Arlen once throat-punched me. He’s very strong. Good build. Like a warrior,” Donno noted. “He could probably kill a zombie. I’d pick him.”

“Well… I’ll take that into consideration. Thank you.”

“Again, you’re welcome.”

March 2021

Still hungover, Beau almost dozed off during the daily briefing in the meeting room of the task force’s headquarters in Mexico – all DEA owned. You sat next to him in your usual seat of the glass box but hadn’t spoken a word to him since this morning at the coffee cart, mindlessly drawing doodles on the edge of your notepad. Obviously, you were still fuming, and Beau didn’t know whether he should try to suffocate the flames or if the fire would eventually burn out on its own.

“Alright, next on the agenda,” Cody said and clapped his palms together as he stood in front of the whiteboard. He was a longtime DEA agent and their task force leader, couple years younger than Beau and probably what most would classify as Hemsworth good-looking. “We need to get everything ready before sending Y/N in with our contact in the cartel. She’s been preparing for the last few months, and if everything goes according to plan, which I hope it will, we can start the mission by the end of next week. Jordan’s also going in with her.”

Beau’s brow furrowed in confusion, his head whipping back and forth between you and their leader. “Whoa, send her in where?”

“Oh, uh, sorry. Forgot you’ve missed last week’s meeting, Arlen,” Cody said with a subtle jab. The others frowned upon him leaving sometimes, none of them having families back in Texas – or at least none that they cared about. “Y/N agreed to go in as a buyer, gather intel.”

Beau’s eyes widened and looked at you, but you still stubbornly averted your gaze. “I’m sorry, what?! Why her? Can’t someone else go in?”

That was the first time you looked at him then. Well, glared.

Cody scoffed disapprovingly. “We need a woman for this one, and if you haven’t noticed, she’s the only one, unless you suddenly grew a vagina, Arlen.”

“He definitely hasn’t,” you muttered in sing-song under your breath, referring to last night’s events. But Beau still heard you, sending you a narrowed glare.

“Our cartel target only makes deals with female buyers. Word on the street is, he likes to get a little… handsy sometimes,” Cody continued.

“Well, that’s comforting to know,” Beau huffed, green eyes then landing on you. “Why did you never tell me you were planning on going undercover?”

There was a moment of awkward silence spreading around the table, everyone’s curious eyes landing on you and Beau. You didn’t respond, however. You clearly had your reasons why you’d left that part out, considering the scene he was making right now.

Cody’s eyes squinted at your partner, his brow scrunching. “You got a problem with that, Arlen? ‘Cause you startin’ to piss me off,” he snapped. For the record, that was the exact moment Cody landed on Beau’s punch list. “Maybe you should have a little more faith in your colleagues, dipshit. Y/N’s got the most experience as a UC in narcotics out of all of us. There’s no doubt in my mind she can pull this off.”

The wink Cody sent you and the smile you gave in return almost set Beau off like an atom bomb, but he contained the explosion and only imploded. He gave a tight-lipped nod in understanding and averted his eyes to the yellow legal pad in front of him, strangling the pen in his grasp instead.

As the meeting ended and everyone filtered out of the glass box, Cody called him back, though. “Arlen, a word.”

You glanced at Beau, your eyes briefly meeting before you left the room as well and strolled back to your desk. You knew he was in for a lecture, having overstepped a line earlier, which wasn’t uncommon for him. But you couldn’t always come to his rescue and offer your own head on a silver platter in return.

“Yeah?” Beau wasn’t even a smidge apologetic in his demeanor. In fact, he was pretty much the opposite and stood his ground with his chin held high as he faced off with Cody.

“I don’t appreciate your little protests during our meetings,” Cody bit. “Look, I don’t care who you fuck in your free time, but keep your personal bullshit to yourself. It’s got no place on this team. You understand?”

Beau let out a humorless chuckle, hands balling into fists by his side. “I’m not sleeping with her.”

“Who the fuck are you tryin’ to fool, huh? Everyone knows you’re hanging out in her room every night. It’s a small motel,” Cody provoked with a mocking smirk.

“I’m her friend. I’m looking out for her,” Beau snarled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, unlike me? Are you insinuating I put my agents in danger? ‘Cause then we have an entirely different problem,” Cody barked, the muscles in his neck and arms tensing. “Maybe it’s best I partner up with her for a couple of weeks till you’ve cooled off enough, Arlen.”

Beau scoffed, laughing darkly. It was the last straw before he decided to throw his inhibitions out the window. “Oh, I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Cody took a step closer and huffed, their faces only mere inches apart from one another. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know.”

One corner of Cody’s lip twitched in amusement. “Let’s make one thing clear here. The only reason you’re down here is ‘cause Y/N vouched for you. If it were solely up to me, I would’ve never let your sorry, drunk ass come down here in the first place. My patience with you is slowly running out. One more strike and I’m sending you back home to the wifey, and you can kiss your side piece goodbye. Got it?” he threatened as the two men glowered at each other. “Now, get the fuck out of my office. You’re off duty for the next few days till you’ve got your head screwed back on straight.”

Clenching his jaw, Beau spun towards the door and furiously kicked a trash can on his way out.

Peeking his head inside Randy’s hospital room, Beau found you sitting by your husband’s bedside. He figured you had spent your day here and had given you till the late afternoon to catch up before he decided to check in on his old partner, too.

The two of you were chatting with smiles on your faces, although yours looked a bit sadder and more subdued than Randy’s. As both of you noticed Beau, the conversation halted. Randy sent him a smile, while your brow creased into the familiar angry pattern. If looks could kill, you were surely aiming your daggers at his heart.

“Hey.” Beau smiled hesitantly at you two and remained close to the door in case he needed to flee quickly. It was always good to have an exit strategy in mind.

“Hey, man.” Randy gave him a nod, his mood a little more dampened than the night before. “They’re letting me out today. No major injuries or head traumas, just a couple of bruises. I can go home later this evening.”

“That’s great. Glad you’re okay.” Beau forced a smile, guilt settling in his stomach that he couldn’t be happier for Randy. His best friend was alive and well. It should’ve been cause for celebration, and yet, he wanted to get stupidly drunk for a different reason.

Randy then looked at you, his brow slightly creasing. “Uh, babe, where’s home, by the way? Did you move to Montana, too?”

You giggled lightly. “Uh, no, I have an apartment in Texas.”

His brow furrowed a little more. “Apartment?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I kinda sold the house,” you told him. “It’s just… after you were, uhm… gone, I couldn’t really stay there anymore. I’m sorry. But, uhm, you can stay at my place.”

For a little while, you thought but refrained from saying that part. What were you supposed to do? Kick him out after you sold his home? Instead, you made a mental note to ask Carla about the proceeds of the house as well. You still had enough left in your saving’s account that easily covered his share. And suddenly, it dawned on you that this began to feel like a divorce.

“Oh.” Randy was quiet for a moment before he sent you a small smile and squeezed your hand. “It’s alright. We can start over, okay?”

Randy was sweet and had tried to take everything you’ve told him so far in stride, but you could tell he began struggling a bit with all the changes. When you came by this morning, he seemed less relaxed and more anxious than the night before.

“I guess, yeah.” You compelled a smile onto your face. You hated lying to him. You hated to pretend the two of you were just going to sail off into the sunset together. But you didn’t want to crush his heart. He’d always been good to you, making you wonder what was wrong with you for not wanting him back. But one look at the green-eyed sheriff by the door answered that question for you. “I-, uhm, I’ll check with the nurse about your discharge and get a coffee refill. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, sweetheart.” Randy gave you a nod and watched you leave, brushing past Beau on your way out.

Beau shared a brief look with you, checking if you were okay, and then rested his palms on the rail of the bed’s footboard. He tried to seem as natural as possible in a situation like this. “So, how are ya holdin’ up?”

“Uh, good, I guess,” Randy replied with a little sigh, his hazel eyes still transfixed on the door where you had walked through.

“Now, that doesn’t sound like the Randy I know,” Beau noted half-jokingly, although he knew what was on his friend’s mind. The same thing that was on his – you.

“Yeah, guess we’re all a little different now, huh?” Randy mumbled pensively. “She seems… distant.”

“Uhm, just give her time, okay? Was a lot on her, too,” Beau said, but he wasn’t sure time was the answer. He could see you struggling as soon as he had strolled into the room, trying your hardest to uphold a crumbling façade.

He started to slowly regret this morning’s decision. One day without you already felt like hell. How was he supposed to survive the rest of his life?

“You two have gotten close, huh?”

Randy’s question was a lightning bolt to Beau’s chest, jolting him awake. He swallowed subtly, thinking about his answer. “Uh, yeah, a little… We’ve spent some time together when we worked on that task force in Mexico.”

“Well, I’m glad she had you. Thanks for taking care of her,” Randy said, smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Adding ‘You would’ve done the same thing’ didn’t seem right in this instance, however.

“You-, uh, you know if she’s seeing anyone?”

The question whipped the air from Beau’s lungs and stole the ground beneath his boots. If Randy was aiming to give him a coronary this afternoon, he was succeeding. “I-, uhm, I’m not sure. Not that I know of, but I don’t think it’s anything you need to worry about.”

That was a good answer, right? And it was sort of the truth. Even if it was killing everything inside of him, he’d stick to the words he’d said to you this morning – he was bowing out of the race. In fact, he considered himself never even been in the race in the first place. Randy didn't have competition. End of discussion.

But Randy didn’t seem to think so, apparently. He scoffed a humorless chuckle and licked his lips. “You two are good liars. I’ll give you that.”

Beau’s green eyes widened. He could guess where this was going, but he knew for certain you hadn’t told Randy. That whole thing screamed psychotic witch, and he only knew one person who fit that ammo – currently locked up in a holding cell at the station.

“Randy, I don’t know what you think, but–”

Randy’s laugh of disbelief interrupted his sorry excuse of a deflection, however. “You really wanna tell me there’s nothing going on between you two? Really? That’s how you wanna play this? I think you owe me a little more than that.”

Beau nodded and rubbed his mouth with his palm. “Yeah, you’re right. I do owe you more than that.”

“So, it’s true?”

Beau swallowed down the thick lump in his throat and met his former partner’s eyes. “Yes. How did you find out?”

“That crazy psycho lady told me,” Randy said and confirmed Beau’s theory, the tears brimming in his brown eyes as he spoke. “I didn’t wanna believe it at first, because, well, it’s you and… her. So then, she showed me a video. Was pretty convincing... But me being a fucking idiot, I still didn't quite buy it, you know? Well, till I saw you two yesterday. Couldn't have been more obvious...”

Beau squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as the words sank in, but then his brow furrowed, something heavy falling into his gut. “What-, uh, what video?”

“I guess if I had to describe it, I’d say it showed you fucking my wife on a desk,” Randy said bluntly and almost hysterically laughed at the outlandishness of it all. “I’d check my office for cameras if I were you, by the way.”

Beau was shocked into silence, muscles frozen in place. He would’ve told Randy eventually, when things had settled enough and the two of you had decided together it was time. But he should’ve known Diane wouldn’t go down quietly and just float to prison. She took pleasure out of torture.

“Speechless, wow.” Randy whistled in mock. He was seething, clearly having held onto his anger for a while now. “How long till you moved in on her, huh? Was my empty casket even in the ground yet?”

“Look, it wasn’t like that,” Beau defended the unwarranted accusation, feeling his own anger start to simmer as well. Even if Randy was angry, he should know better than that. Their friendship had meant something once, and Beau would’ve never betrayed it like that if Randy had been alive and still around.

“So, in your office, that was a one time slip-up?” Randy lifted a brow, and for a moment, Beau could see a sliver of hope in his brown eyes. If it had just been a one-time thing in the heat of the moment, something that could be forgotten and discarded once it turned cold, he would’ve been able to forgive both of you.

But Beau couldn’t lie to him any longer. “No,” he stated earnestly. “We’ve been datin’ on and off for about two years now. First time ‘round, we’ve been together for a little over twelve months before we broke things off. We didn’t see each other for almost a year when I moved here, but we’ve, uhm, recently rekindled things, as people might say. But we waited more than a year after your funeral. There was nothin’ rushed about it, alright?”

Randy scoffed bitterly. “Wow, a whole year, huh? Glad I have a friend like you.”

“Randy–” Beau sighed deeply and ran a palm over his face.

“What, huh? You’re gonna tell me you’re fucking sorry?”

Thoughtfully, Beau pursed his lips for a heartbeat but then shook his head. “No,” he stated firmly, Randy’s brow raising in surprise. “Look, I am sorry that I hurt you, but I’m not sorry for what happened between me and Y/N. I love her.”

Randy's gaze drifted out the window as he ground his jaw. It was tensely silent for a moment. “Does she love you?”

Hesitantly and unsurely, Beau still nodded. “I think so, yeah.” At his response, Randy scoffed in incredulity. “But look, like I said, you got nothin’ to worry about. I already told Y/N I’m out. I’m backing down, alright? She’s all yours, man.”

“She’s always been mine,” Randy gritted. “And thanks for your fucking charity. What a hero! But I don’t need it, you got it? I want her to make the decision. I don’t want her to fucking pick me by default ‘cause y’all feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Randy,” Beau warned cautiously.

“What, why? You actually think she’s gonna pick you over me?” Randy snorted a mocking chuckle. “I’m her husband. You’re the fucking rebound. You’re the guy that just happened to be there when she was fucking sad and then took advantage of her.”

“I’m cuttin’ you a lot of slack here, but you better take that back,” Beau snarled with flaring nostrils.

“Or what? You gonna punch me? Leave me to die again? Fuck my wife?” Randy challenged. “News flash – you’ve already done your worst… It’s true, though. You’re the fucking second choice. She’s never gonna pick you!”

“She already did!” Beau yelled explosively and bit his tongue immediately after, watching Randy’s face fall.

“What’s going on here?”

The men’s eyes fell on you as you appeared in the room and blinked at them in confusion. You had overheard parts of their conversation since both of them shouted so loudly it echoed all the way back to the nurses’ station.

“He knows,” Beau informed you quietly and shared a sideways look with you. “Diane told him.”

“Uh…” You stumped, your mouth falling open. Another part of you, though, scolded you for not anticipating this. This had been Diane’s real ace, hadn’t it? Bringing Randy back from the dead was just a small part of it.

“You need to make a choice, Y/N,” Randy demanded, his features stern. In all the years you'd known him and been married to him, you'd never seen him this upset.

“Randy, just leave her alone. Now’s not the time,” Beau argued firmly.

“Yes, now’s the time,” Randy insisted, his brow knitting into even more furious creases. “What are you now, her white knight?”

“Would you shut the fuck up already?”

“Would you shut the fuck up? I’m tryna talk to my wife here!”

“You’re not her fucking husband anymore!”

“Well, you’re not her fucking boyfriend!” Randy yelled snappily and then looked at you again. “Who’s it gonna be, huh? Me or him?”

“For fuck’s sake, Randy! Stop pressuring her and give her a fucking moment!”

“Oh, I forgot! You know her so well now!”

“A blind person can see she’s struggling, you self-centered ass!”

“I’m self-centered? What about you, you–”

“No one! I pick no one!” you shouted between their bickering, the two men finally falling silent. You looked at Randy with tears stinging your eyes. You could barely see the heartbreak and anger on his face through your blurred vision. “Are you fucking happy now?” Disappointedly, you gave a shrug of your shoulders and bolted out of the room.

“Are you happy? ‘Cause I damn well hope you are. Got your fucking decision, man,” Beau retorted.

“Fuck you.”

Beau only shook his head in response and scoffed, leaving the room in search of you.

It mattered how you felt.

Chapter 11: You With Me

Did that conversation go as you'd expected? I think even Carla is secretly voting for Beau 😂 Next week, Diane's back with more shenanigans... 👀

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