#tree stump gone

[chrisstumps05]

I missed one Stump on the Big Stump Grinding Job

[rafesangelita]

♡ when farmer’s!daughter!reader’s father goes out of town to visit some family, her and cowboy!rafe can’t keep their hands to themselves any longer.

warnings: reader is a little bit on the shy side, flirty banter, use of petnames, implied age gap (rafe is 7-10 years older), hint of jealous!rafe, reader refers to her father as ‘daddy’, mentions of sneaking around, slowburn (kinda?), lotsss of sexual tension, fluff, mutual pining, oral (f. receiving), fingering, finger sucking, unprotected sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, cream pie, squirting, multiple orgasms

a/n: based loosely off of the moodboard + headcanons i wrote here <3 saddle up because this is a long one lol

wc: 4.8k

“you gonna keep staring at me or are you gonna help me out here?” rafe grunted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he watched you blink away from his form. you looked up from his shirtless figure, his skin glistening with sweat as butterflies fluttered in your chest. “what do you need?” you chirped, blinking rapidly as if to shake away the thoughts of pressing wet kisses to his waistline. “a cold glass of water sounds good right now.” you obliged, rafe watching as you went up the porch stairs in your cute little boots, his eyes falling down to your backside. “fuck.” he muttered to himself.

if he knew he’d have to fight the urge to touch his boss’s pretty daughter, he would’ve hesitated in taking the job. eight months had felt like an eternity when you pranced around the farm in the prettiest dresses and shortest daisy duke shorts he’s ever seen. you came back with a glass of water, taking a sip before handing it to him. expecting rafe to turn the glass around to take a drink from the other side of the rim, your cheeks heated when he placed his mouth on the same spot your lips were on just moments ago. “thanks, sweetheart.” rafe shot you a wink, his charm making you look away shyly.

you plopped down on a nearby tree stump, a pout taking over your features as you looked at the empty driveway. your father had only been gone for a few hours, not nearly making a dent in the five days he’ll be away. “you don’t have to worry about him, y’know? he’s a strong man.” rafe decided he needed a break from being hunched over under the hood of his truck, his chest rising and falling as he took a seat on the bed of fluffy grass next to you. “i know..” you muttered, “it’s just— he’s so much older now, i worry about him.” you looked down at rafe, his eyes already trained on you.

rafe nodded. “that man can survive anything. wasn’t he in his truck when a tornado came and swept him off the ground?” you gasped, a laugh escaping your lips. “he told you that story?!” you squealed excitedly, your reaction making rafe melt into a puddle of nothing. you were too cute. “did he also tell you the part where that didn’t really happen? him and his buddy just got real close to it.” rafe’s face morphed into one of pure shock. “he lied?!” you threw your head back in laughter, a snort following shortly after. it was rafe’s turn to laugh, the sound unfamiliar to his ears.

“oh my god, excuse me. i can’t believe i just did that!” you clasped a hand over your mouth, embarrassment creeping up onto your face. the man next to you waved you off. “why would he lie about that?” rafe leaned back on his hands, giving you a full view of his chiseled abs. sighing dreamily, you shrugged. “he’s a drama queen sometimes, he likes the theatrics.” realizing that you just swooned over his muscles, rafe cleared his throat before getting back to work. he respected your father too much to give in to his filthy desires, or so he hoped.

swallowing the lump of rejection in your throat, you made your way inside where you decided to watch him from your bedroom window instead. your infatuation with this man only grew by the day, and it was becoming really hard to hide your adoration for him. all the times he slipped you a little wink when your father wasn’t looking, the playing of footsies under the table while your father ranted about the economy, the lingering stares and touches.. you weren’t crazy, you had every right to believe this man was interested in you in some way, shape, or form.

apart of you wanted to believe that rafe was trying to maintain in being a gentleman towards you, but there’s nothing you wanted more than for him to hold off all kind of honor and respect for you while he takes you however he wants. you daydreamed about being fucked in a headlock by him, along with being put into twenty other positions. letting out a sigh, you fell back on your bed, fiddling with the ribbon that was tied to the belt loop of your shorts. how on earth were you going to go about these next few days all alone with him?

night time rolled around, and rafe had just come inside for a shower. “are you hungry?” you watched as he rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck to release some pressure of today’s labor. “yeah, but i’ll help myself. don’t worry about it, ‘sugar.” he groaned before shutting the bathroom door behind him. you knew he wouldn’t, days like this always ended in rafe knocking out as soon as he hit his bed, empty stomach or not. the only thing rafe could think about as the hot water pattered against his back, was how you were in the same house as him in nothing but a night dress.

he wondered if you’d let him hike it up your thighs.. if you’d allow him to slip his fingers underneath the soft material. so badly, he wanted to see your face twist in pleasure underneath him, he ached to see that day. rafe let out a shuddering breath, swallowing thickly as lewd images of you ran through his head. he imagined your hands trailing down his torso, those cherry red painted fingers of yours wrapped tightly around his cock. you had this man questioning everything he ever knew about being a gentlman. rafe rubbed the sides of his face, his eyes screwing shut as he attempted to get all inappropriate thoughts about you out of his head.

he remembered seeing you for the first time all those months ago. you were wearing a red gingham dress, your hair styled so pretty and neat. he knew immediately that he was in trouble when you flashed him that million dollar smile when your father introduced you two. it wasn’t long before both of you started flirting with each other, even going as far as touching each other when you didn’t have to. rafe would ‘help’ you up on your horse, his hands planted on the globes of your ass as he hoisted you onto the saddle. he swore he died and came back to life whenever you’d place a hand on him every time he made you laugh.

slowly but surely, you two were getting more bolder with your moves. while rafe was ogling your goodies more often than not, you started leaving your curtains open whenever you’d change, knowing he could see you from the view of his window. pinching the bridge of his nose, rafe quickly hurried up in the shower, feeling the need to relieve himself in his own space where he knew you’d be far away from. after washing away all the dirt and grime, he felt clean as he dried himself off, only for his peace to come crashing down when he realized he didn’t bring an extra change of clothes with him.

with no other choice but to walk out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, he tried to sneak pass you in the kitchen and out the back door, but of course he wasn’t so lucky. “i know you said you would make yourself something, but—” you turned around with a loaded dinner plate in your hand, the dish nearly slipping out of your grip when you saw the tall cowboy standing awkwardly with his hands on his hips.

your eyes trailed down his stomach, the sight of his happy trail making you swallow thickly. rafe took note of this, his heart beating in his chest as you averted your gaze elsewhere. “uhm, well i made you this.. i know it’s one of your favorites..” you placed the plate of steak and mashed potatoes on the table, turning around as you took your bottom lip between your teeth. this was absolute torture. “it looks amazing, i’ll just get some clothes on and be right back.” he held onto the towel, jogging to his place where he slipped on a pair of pajama pants and a dingy white t-shirt.

“you didn’t have to do this,” rafe took a seat at the table, his jaw ticking when you bent over the counter to grab a couple of drinking glasses, “thank you.” at this point he didn’t know if he was thanking you for the food, or the perfect view of your ass. “water?” you looked at him from over your shoulder, your cheeks heating when you saw his eyes shoot away from your backside. “a beer please.” you smiled at his answer. you should’ve known he’d pick that out after a full day of work. grabbing a bottle from the fridge, you handed it to him, his fingers brushing yours as you took a seat across from him.

“my dad makes it a lot better than i do, so—” rafe was quick to cut you off, a moan leaving his lips as he chewed. “this is.. damn!” you giggled, shaking your head. “it’s great, darlin’. truly.” he nodded approvingly, flashing you a thumbs up. you smiled that smile of yours before tasting it yourself. despite all the tension between you two, you could always count on each other to talk the other’s ear off. “wait. so you’re telling me that you’re actually from an island? why on earth would you live out in the middle of nowhere when you had the beach in your backyard?” you asked incredulously.

rafe took a swig from his beer, a bittersweet laugh leaving his lips. “i got into a ‘lotta bad shit over there. i was on some bad shit,” he sighed, “being out here brings me peace.. even if i’m breaking my back everyday.” you listened closely, giving him your full attention as he told you more about the place he was from. you learned that he used to be a filthy rich boy with a house bigger than you could ever imagine. rafe smiled softly, a solemn expression taking over his features. “it’s very nice. but i wouldn’t go back.” he leaned back in his chair.

you tilted your head at him, both of your plates empty. “no? how come?” you leaned forward, your cleavage peeking out of your neckline. eyes flickering down to your chest, rafe seemed to get flustered when he felt your foot trail up his leg. “well,” he zeroed in on your lips, “i see myself settling down out here, ‘havin some little ones.” your breath hitched, a smidge of jealousy now residing in your gut. as if he could read your mind, he caught your foot under the table, his thumb stroking your ankle. “old habits seem to die hard, huh?” rafe laughed.

pushing away the jealousy, you nodded, feeling a new profound sense of confidence with the way he was looking at you right now. “yeah, i guess i forgot we’re here all by ourselves.. ‘don’t really have to hide from anyone..” you yawned, your head falling back on your chair as your night gown rode up your thighs. just a few inches higher, and rafe would finally see what he’s been fantasizing about all this time. “yeah..” he crossed his arms, his biceps looking especially good right now. you two stayed quiet, just looking at each other as if everything was threatening to rise to the surface.

do something! you thought to yourself, hoping rafe could magically hear you and grab you from across the table. instead, he looked away, letting go of your foot before scooting out from the table. “dinner was really good, but i better head off to bed, now.” he didn’t let you say anything before he left in a haste. what. the. fuck. you got up, watching him curse to himself from the kitchen window. you couldn’t help but feel defeated. rafe was always the one pulling away from you, no matter how close you two got, he always left you high and dry.

once you cleaned everything up, and you were left lying by yourself in your bed, you decided everything would change. if he pulled away from you, surely you should do the same.

you woke up the next morning to the sound of rafe’s truck engine roaring to life. rubbing your eyes, you shielded your face from the morning sun, deciding to get your day started as soon as possible. within an hour, you were stepping outside, walking over to where rafe was smiling brightly behind the steering wheel. “i got it working, sweetheart! should we go for a ride?” damn him, he knew how much you loved to be passenger princess in his two seater-beater. you cleared your throat, already hating yourself as you said no. “i don’t think so.. i got a lot of stuff to do today.”

rafe watched you go back in the house, his jaw ticking in response. the only thing you had to do today was sit and look pretty. not to mention, for as long as rafe has been here, you never, ever, rejected going on a little drive with him. that’s how he immediately knew something wasn’t right, and he’d bet all of his money that it had something to do with last night. taking the keys out of the ignition, rafe decided that if you weren’t going to go for a ride with him, then he wasn’t going either. considering he did everything he needed to do yesterday, rafe settled for going inside to tidy up his place.

you walked around the house aimlessly, a book in your hand as you kept glancing outside to see if you could spot rafe anywhere. you didn’t. letting out a groan, you looked at the clock on the wall. it was already half past noon. you debated on whether or not you should take him some lunch, your leg bouncing as you tried to weigh out your options here. on one hand, you could bring rafe lunch, try to talk some stuff out, and on the other hand, you could just leave things be like you promised yourself you would. you knew rafe wasn’t stupid, surely he’d catch on to you soon.

just as you decided against bothering him, there was a knock at the front door. eyebrows knitting in confusion, you opened the door to see your childhood best friend, wyatt. “wyatt!” you squealed, throwing your arms around him as he pulled you close to him by your waist. “oh my, lord! when did you come back from the city?!” you welcomed him in, motioning for him to come inside. “i just finished my second semester, so i’ll be in town for a while. i drove out here just last night, ‘decided to surprise my folks.” he smiled, his expression softening once you urged him to take a seat at the kitchen table.

“i didn’t see your old man’s truck out front..” he sat down, taking his hat off and placing it on the table. “oh, yeah.. he’s out of town visiting my aunt.” you leaned back on the counter, your eyes flickering at his hair. he looked so much different now. “wow, you’re uh— you look really good.” you complimented. “yeah, i’m not lanky anymore,” wyatt laughed, “you look gorgeous as always, though.” his gaze ran down your dress, the sight of your bare thighs making him clear his throat. “well, i didn’t just want to come by and say hi, i actually wanted to ask you something—”

rafe barged in before wyatt could finish his sentence.

“who’s this?” he stared between you two, the jealousy in his blue eyes very, very evident. you smiled innocently as wyatt got up, extending a hand for rafe to shake. “hello, sir. i’m an old friend of y/n’s here, ‘was just coming to visit her.” rafe looked down at wyatt’s palm, keeping both of his hands tucked in his pockets. “well, you two might wanna hurry this up, y/n’s father doesn’t know about any visitors coming to his home.” rafe walked around him, opening the fridge for a beer. “daddy isn’t home though, isn’t he?” you spoke up, in which rafe turned around. “what was that?” he asked.

you two were glaring at each other now. “my dad isn’t here,” you repeated, “and besides, he knows wyatt. ‘thinks of him as a son, right?” rafe’s grip on his beer bottle tightened, a smile playing on his lips when he glanced over at your friend. “yeah.” wyatt nodded. rafe was seeing red, he couldn’t stand to look at you and wyatt standing so close to each other any longer. turning around, rafe listened in as wyatt asked to take you out to dinner. “aw, i would love to! what time should i be ready?”rafe shut his eyes momentarily. you said yes to wyatt too fast for his liking. “how does eight o’clock sound?”

you hummed, nodding excitedly as wyatt made his way to the front door. “alright, it’s a date then. see ‘ya!” you waved at him until his truck disappeared down the dirt road. walking back into the kitchen, rafe was staring you down as you acted like you didn’t just agree to go on a date in front of him. “what do you think you’re playing at?” he narrowed his eyes at you. “if you’re acting out because of last night—” you cut him off. “don’t talk about me ‘acting out’ when you’re the one who decided to run back to your little shed when i was giving you an open opportunity.” you cut in.

“an open opportunity to do what?” rafe’s voice was firm as he stepped closer to you, his beer long forgotten on the counter as he gripped your arm. you failed miserably at trying not to look down at his lips. “it doesn’t even matter now. you obviously don’t want it,” you softened, “don’t want me..” rafe couldn’t believe his ears. you were all that this man thought about. he woke up thinking of what pretty outfit you would wear for the day, and went to sleep wishing you were by his side. “don’t want you?” he repeated, loosening his grip on your skin. “you just have no fucking clue.” rafe stepped back.

“you’re the only thing that i want.” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head as he made his way outside to the back house. you stared at him in shock. all this time you wondered if something was wrong with you because he never made a real move to pursue you, but now all of a sudden after you agree to go on a date he wants to express how he feels? and has the nerve to walk off right after? fuck that. you pushed the back door open, the old wood slamming back against the house as rafe spun around on his heels. “so why do you walk away from me?!” you shouted, both of your chests rising and falling.

“what are you talking about?” you stepped down the stairs, shoving rafe in the chest. “why do you leave every time things start to go somewhere?” his eyes bore into yours, “i’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. have you ever thought that maybe i want you too?” those were the words rafe needed to hear before he cupped your face and dragged you off your feet. his lips were soft against your own, his calloused hands pulling you close to him as your arms wrapped around his neck. he groaned at the taste of you, his tongue slipping in your mouth before you could process what was happening.

rafe kissed you hard and slow, as if to savor you before he led you two to his place, the door barely shutting before he had you pinned to his neatly made bed. “i’ve wanted you the moment your father introduced us, that’s the truth.” he slotted himself between your thighs, cupping your tits through your dress. you moaned, his hips grinding against your clothed cunt. “why would you wait all this time then?” you whimpered when he started pressing kisses to the curve of your neck, his calloused hands feeling you up as they roamed your soft flesh. “well for starters, i have a lot of respect for your pops..”

you sighed, completely forgetting about the old man. “and?” rafe pulled the straps of your dress down until the material pooled at your waist. leaning back on his heels, rafe marveled at the sight of your bare chest, your tits looking more perfect than he imagined. “..and right now, all the respect i have is going out the door.” you cried out when he leaned down, his lips wrapping around a sensitive bud while he used his other hand to snake beneath the waistband of your panties. you blinked up at the ceiling, your hips bucking when you felt his rough fingers stroke your clit.

“that feels so good, ray.” you keened, the weight of his body providing you a sense of safety and comfort. rafe felt like he was under a spell. with your sweet voice in his ear, and his fingers working to get you soaked and ready for him, he couldn’t wait to taste you any longer. pulling away from you, rafe slid your dress and underwears off in one swift motion, a shiver running down your spine when he slowly spread your thighs apart. “you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.” he licked his lips, glancing up at your heated face. your heart bloomed in your chest, your hand finding his cheek.

“please. i’ve wanted this for eight months.” you confessed, your words sending rafe into overdrive. without another thought, rafe took your thighs and placed them on his shoulders, delving into your wetness with a groan. instinctively, your back arched up from his bed, your hands flying to rest on top of his own. you squeezed his fingers, a string of babbles falling from your lips as rafe’s tongue flicked against your sensitive bundle of nerves. rafe watched as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyebrows knitting together as pure bliss etched itself onto your face.

“you okay?” rafe pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, wanting to make sure it wasn’t too much for you before continuing. “mhmm, yes!” you looked down, the image of rafe’s chin, lips, and even the tip of his nose glistening with your slick was now forever ingrained in your brain. smiling to himself, rafe got back to work, but this time with his fingers prodding at your entrance. “might be a bit uncomfortable at first, but i promise it’ll feel so good, baby.” you nodded, putting all your trust in him before you felt the delicious stretch of his digits inside your cunt.

“fuck!” you squealed, your thighs threatening to snap shut around his head. rafe curled his digits, your eyes screwing shut as he continuously pressed that soft spot inside of you. rafe didn’t stop his skillful movements on your clit, an unfamiliar feeling starting to swirl in your core. rafe cursed at the wet sounds emitting from your pussy, his cock hard and aching to get inside of you already. you gasped when he kept suckling on your sensitive bud, your stomach caving in when he pressed a hand to your tummy. before you could think, white hot pleasure blinded your vision, your entire body jolting as the first wave of your orgasm washed over you.

rafe felt the way you pulsed around his digits, wishing so badly that it was his cock instead. eyes flickering up to your face, he groaned when he saw the way your face twisted in pure bliss, your legs shaking as you felt the sudden urge to pull away from him. “rafe, wait!” you cried out, a sob ripping itself from your throat when a stream of wetness suddenly soaked rafe’s chin, your decadence streaming down his neck as he moaned against your cunt. you stared down at him with wide eyes, your mouth parting in suprise when he slipped his digits in his mouth.

“i- i don’t know what that was!” you gasped, cheeks heating in embarrassment. licking a final stripe up your folds, rafe smiled as he shook his head. “you just squirted, baby, get used to it.” his length rested on top of your tummy, hot and heavy, as he threaded his fingers with yours. “gonna fuck you until you’re carrying my baby..” your heart swelled, recalling his words from last night. “were you talking about me? when you said you wanted little ones..” rafe looked into your eyes, the sincerity in his gaze making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. “you’re the only woman i envision. future and present.”

cupping his face softly, you brought his lips down to meet your own, the head of his cock slipping into your entrance. you let out a shuddering breath, nodding slowly as he pushed the rest of his length inside your greedy walls. you swore you died and went to heaven when he starting rocking into you, both of you moaning in unison. “rafe?” you whimpered, gazing up at him with teary eyes, “shit— yeah, sweetheart?” the man on top of you thumbed your chin, a concerned expression taking over his features. you could tell rafe was holding back with the way he was hesitating with every thrust.

“harder, please.” you asked sweetly, rafe obliging without another thought. soon, you were a crying mess, your eyes barely staying open as rafe put you in a mating press. he was already reaching new depths in regular missionary, so when he placed your legs over his shoulders and caged you between his arms, you were hysterical as his tip kissed your cervix. “oh, god!” you screamed, your nails digging into rafe’s skin as he fucked you stupid. “can’t..” you shook your head, the feeling of his cock filling you to the hilt was increasingly becoming too much to handle.

"yes you can, sugar. look how good you're taking it all.." rafe cradled your head, making you look down at where you two were connected. you moaned at the sight, his cock shining with your slick. rafe kept his hands beneath your head, kissing you softly as his pubic bone began hitting your clit. “m’gonna make you the prettiest mommy this town has ever seen, just watch.” he chuckled, his forehead falling in the curve of your neck. you ran your fingers across his buzzed scalp, the word ‘promise?’ lingering on your tongue. “is that what you want? ‘want me to breed you until you’re all pretty and round?”

you cried out, rafe’s hips stuttering as he felt his climax creeping up on him. “yes, yes, yes—” you repeated yourself like a broken record, rafe’s name falling from your lips like a mantra. “oh, fuck!” he cursed, teeth grazing your flesh as he spilled into you, your second orgasm making you squeeze around him like a vice. rafe stilled, making sure to keep stroking your clit so he could draw out your high for as long as possible. slipping his thumb in your mouth, you shamelessly sucked on the digit as you trembled beneath him, his hot load filling you up.

you two stayed panting against each other’s mouths until your highs subsided, a light sheen of sweat coating both of your skin’s. pulling out with a grunt, rafe rolled over, pulling you with him so he could spoon you. letting out a sigh, you reveled in the warm sun streaming through his window, the light casting off of your face and illuminating the walls. “that was worth the wait, don’t you think?” if it wasn’t for the feeling of your limbs being jelly, you would’ve turned around and landed a playful smack to his chest. instead, you hummed, your eyes heavy with sleep. “we’re not keeping this from my father, rafe.”

your voice was hoarse as you spoke. “no. no, we’re not.” he kissed your shoulder. “you should probably give that guy wayne a call, ‘tell him you’re not going on that date after all.” you giggled, a shiver going down your spine as his large palm rubbed circles into your back. “wyatt, rafe. his name is wyatt. i only told him yes to rile you up.” you teased. rafe knew that, but it still pissed him off nonetheless. “i’ll cancel in a minute, ‘sir.” you used wyatt’s formalities towards rafe earlier against him, earning you a light pinch to your side. “that asshole. ‘really called me sir as if i’m that old.” he shook his head, waiting for you to disagree.

“well..” you trailed off, bursting into laughter when he attacked you with sloppy kisses.

[madaboutmunson]

Tag, You’re It

For the dailydrabble prompt 'Tag, You're It' by @strangerthingswritersguild

Ao3 Link

“No-no-no Sheepies. Eddie doesn’t do sports,” Eddie drawled lying back on the grassy hillside and pulling his sunglasses over his eyes.

There was a collective groan from the kids.

“It’s not even sports,” Dustin complained, “It’s more like...uh...like capturing a castle.”

“Capturing a castle?” Eddie scoffed, peering over the top of his sunglasses. “Aren’t you all a little old to be chasing one another around in a field, defending a tree stump?” He was aware of how hypocritical this was, only a few weekends ago he had been charging around a forest defending a tree stump of his own, albeit in character.

A frustrated blush rose to Mike’s face, “It’s not like that. It’s timed and-and there's a prize. Well two. And if you capture the stump you add a rule.”

“A prize?” Eddie yawned and leaned back on his hands on the grass.

“You’re not selling this,” Lucas huffed at Mike.

“Sinclair’s right you’re not. Be Gone!” Eddie sighed wearily and waved them away.

“Come on Eddie it’s embarrassing out there, the girls have Steve on their team,” Dustin whined.

“He’s only playing to spite me,” Mike grumbled folding his arms.

“He asked if we wanted some help, and genius Mike here laughed and said he had too much hairspray in to be on the boy’s team,” Lucas griped, “Now he’s kicking our ass, especially with his stupid rules.”

“Stupid rules?” Eddie asked with a deeper sigh. He was not interested in the game itself but he figured they weren’t moving, so he might as well get the gossip.

“Every time he gets the stump he makes up a rule so none of us can tag him,” Mike scowled.

“Huh? You can make up a rule that you can’t be tagged? Sounds like a glaring pit fall in the rules system here,” Eddie chuckled.

“No. He’ll say we can only tag him if we compliment him, or tell him he’s the best, or sing, or something,” Lucas added.

“Sounds pretty easy to me?” Eddie said looking between the three high-schoolers pausing for them, but its clear all the running had put their brains out to lunch, “Just say the thing.”

“NO WAY!” They yelled in unison.

“If you wanna win, sometimes you gotta swallow your pride guys. Now if you could stop casting your shadows so I can catch some rays, and take your putrid aromas with you, that would be splendid. Thanks.”

The three of them huddled up. Eddie could hear them muttering.

“What if we got you some beers?” Dustin asked, “Or a new D&D module?”

“Where are you pipsqueaks gonna get alcohol from?” Eddie laughed.

“The Christmas stash my mom has, she won’t notice anything is missing, Nancy, has taken a whole vodka bottle from it before,” Mike replied.

Eddie sat up, “I’m listening. Why do you wanna win so badly anyway?”

“At first it was for a bag of candy and who gets to choose the next film at the movies, but now we just really wanna beat Steve, he’s mocking us out there.”

Eddie peeked around the trio and true enough Steve Harrington looked pretty damn pleased with himself, and pretty damn cute. He was wearing very fitted athletic shorts and a snug white tank top that clung to his broad shoulders, as anyone in their right mind would being doing that close to Steve, sweat patches making it almost translucent in places, with his chest hair poking out the top. If that wasn't bad enough he was celebrating by flexing his muscles to mock the boys. Eddie took a deep inhale of breath, because he didn't realise he had been holding it.

“Alright, I’ll win it for you, but I don’t wanna hear a peep out you three begging me for shit the rest of the summer. Got it?”

They nodded in unison as Eddie got up, dusted off his denim cutoffs and tank top and pushed his sunglasses into his hair.

“Let’s take down a King,” Eddie grinned with malevolence.

Steve frowned as they approached the field again, “Munson? You joining us?”

“Yeah, thought I’d even the teams out. I heard the numbers were uneven?”

“And you’re the one to bring balance to the game?” Steve asked raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Eddie said confidently, with his hands on his hips.

A laugh bubbled out of Steve getting louder until he was doubled over.

Eddie’s lip twitched, but he keeps his cool, “Well are we playing or what?”

The teams spaced out, and Eddie flexed his fingers, and bolted for the stump as soon as Robin blew the whistle.

His team mates flanked him but each of them fell, tackled by Max, El, and Erica.

Just as Eddie was about to leap for the stump Harrington beats him to it.

“Freeze!” Robin shouted and Eddie sneered at being stuck in place, “Go ahead, Steve.”

Harrington tapped his chin thoughtfully, “You can only tag me if you recite me a poem.”

There was a collective groan, but Eddie grinned.

“Ok unfreeze,” Robin called out, and Eddie hopped up on the stump crowding Steve.

“Roses are red, Violets are blue, Sugar is sweet,” he said smoothly before looking over Steve, “But not as sweet as you big boy.”

Steve didn’t budge, looked confused at Eddie.

“Stump is Eddie’s,” Robin officiated.

“No that’s didn’t even rhyme properly!” Steve complained at Robin.

“Poetry doesn’t have to rhyme,” Eddie smirked.

“Yeah it does!” Steve frowned.

“Steve I made my ruling. Eddie gets the stump, and the longer you stand there whining the more time you waste. You’ve got less than five minutes left.”

Steve huffed down his nose and stomped back to his starting position on the field.

“Eddie, your rule?”

“Uh that’s easy you have to tell me I’m real pretty.” He smiled wide and batted his eyelashes, as the girls rolled their eyes.

Robin shook her head but blew the whistle anyway. The others charged towards the stump. Harrington was way too fast for anyone to get there before him, and he slapped Eddie’s leg with his hand.

“Tag, stump’s mine,” Steve said.

Eddie looked down on him with glee, “Uh-uh you gotta say it.”

Steve’s face was a picture, contorting with effort as he looked up at Eddie, “YOUREREALPRETTY” he said quickly and weirdly loudly.

Eddie tossed his hair with his hand, “I didn’t know you cared Harrington.” Steve blushed hard. He smiled toothily and hopped down from the stump sauntering back to his starting position with no complaint, he knew the clock was ticking.

“What are you doing?” Dustin said through gritted teeth, “You said you’d win.”

“Oh but I am,” Eddie smirked and gestured to a confused looking Steve and Robin tapping her watch at him.

“Ok! Ok. It’s hard to think of one. Alright! Geez! You have to say...uh...you have to say I’m the smartest man in the universe.” Steve said and gathered up the girls for a huddle and pointed at Eddie.

Robin blew the whistle, and Eddie nimbly dodged the flying tackles from the girls. They were fast, but Eddie had that feral energy coursing through him now. He got to the foot of the stump and spanked Steve’s backside. “Tag,” he said slyly and grabbed onto Steve’s hips to hoist himself up onto the stump.

He looked right into Steve’s eyes, “It’s my stump, smartest man in the universe,” punctuating his words with a wink.

Steve didn’t say anything, just stared, dropped off the stump, and went back to the starting position. Eddie knew he’d rattled him and the next thing Steve wouldn’t do. No way.

“Eddie! Rule?” Robin said a little exasperated

“A kiss,” Eddie said.

“No way there are kids here!” Robin said.

“I didn’t say they had to kiss me directly, they can blow me a kiss”

Robin turned to the kids. They were all yelling at her about the time and didn’t seem to care.

“Alright, but for the record, I’m against this” she reluctantly blew the whistle, and just like Eddie predicted Steve was thrown, he was tackling the boys hoping one of the girls would head for the stump but they wouldn’t go for it.

Eddie looked smug, striking a mock-heroic pose as he flexed his much smaller, toned muscles with theatrical pride, fully aware of the irony. He grinned to himself, already picturing how he was going to be sipping cocktails on the porch tonight. His thoughts were broken by an angry Erica screaming, “Just do it sailor man! Go over there and blow that long haired freak a kiss!”

“We’ve only got ten seconds left!” Max complained shoving Mike to the floor.

“Yes Steve I don’t want to watch the same movie all summer,” El said.

The boys understood the assignment and made kissy noises at Steve to mock him.

Eddie rocked on his heels with a huge smile as he watched the last few seconds tick down.

Until he felt a slap on his hand and he was confronted with a furious Steve

Eddie raised his eyebrows with confidence, “Well Howdy there Big b-“

And before he knew what was happening, he heard a collective gasp and “Steve’s stump! That’s time, come on nerds,” Robin added.

Eddie felt pressure on his lips, heat on the sides of his face. Steve was kissing him and was grabbing his face. He was rendered speechless. Steve smiled. Eddie suddenly felt hands on his shoulders as he was pushed off the stump and landed on his ass with a thud, almost as hard as his heart was hammering in his chest.

He could hear the boys complaining and the girls cheering. He shrugged at them in apology, heart pounding and face burning, trying to suppress the chaos spiralling in his chest from that kiss. He pulled down his sunglasses and quickly tried to walk back to his van, before he had a public crisis.

He was nearly at his sanctuary when he heard the rapid footsteps on the gravel path behind him, “Hey! Wait up!”

Eddie’s stomach dropped to the depths of the abyss, twisting with something hot and familiar. Dread, maybe, or anticipation. He couldn't tell. He could run, but that would look worse. He stopped and turned on his heel.

“You didn’t shake my hand,” Steve frowned a little out of breath.

“What?” was all Eddie could manage.

“We beat you, we're supposed to shake hands after. No hard feelings. Sportspersonship stuff.” Steve tried again, extending his hand towards Eddie.

“Oh, yeah. No hard feelings here. It was literally just tag, man. You’re good.” Eddie laughed it off, eager to get away.

“You won’t shake my hand? Is it because of what I did?” Steve asked and Eddie could hear the shame in his voice, and he couldn’t have that. Not with those sad puppy dog eyes looking so wounded at him.

“Look. I set the rule. You just wanted the win real bad,” Eddie said, trying to sound breezy, though his voice wavered just enough to betray the heat still lingering on his cheeks. "It’s not a problem,” Eddie said and extended his hand.

Steve's smile brightened as they shook on it but as Eddie tried to let go, he found Steve gripping his hand tightly.

“You okay, Steve?” he asked and found himself pulled flush with Steve’s chest, their faces an inch apart. As they collided he was met with the full Harrington experience. The beauty marks, the crooked smile, the flecks of gold in his eyes, the soft swoop of his hair, the heat from his body, and that scent of sun lotion, cologne and sweat. It's enough for him to forcefully replant his feet, so he didn't collapse with how overwhelmed he felt.

“I would have done it sooner without a crowd,” Steve said gently.

“Shook my hand?” Eddie asked nervously, confused but he knew what Steve was getting at.

“If you ever want one again just give me a call,” Steve smirked, leaving a frazzled Eddie standing slack-jawed as he jogged back to the others.

[familyvideostevie]

all of it still matters

joel miller x fem!reader | 2.4k

you get sick and, much to joel's chagrin, refuse to take it easy.

jackson!joel, fem!reader, fluff, fainting, ellie and her dog that i invented for some reason, kind of plotless but who cares! it's all about love in the end, anyway.

a/n: welcome back to our lovebirds from just and just as. be gentle, please. it's been a while.

--

The sky is a brilliant orange. Golden hour, they used to call it.

It's probably a little too cold to be sitting on the front porch but you can't help it on an evening like this. You tug a fraying flannel of Joel's tighter around your shoulders. It's worn at the elbows and he reminds you that he'll fix it if you release it from your clutches but somehow that never happens. The journal he made you is open on your lap, almost full. You've taken care to write down not only your memories but the stories he and Tommy tell about their lives before, the day-to-day of Jackson, the jokes Ellie is particularly proud of. She recently recounted a birthday trip to a museum, laughing as she told you about pushing Joel into the water.

You take a sip of your pine tea. It's chilly through the whole day, now, and soon the morning frost will be snow. Winter was hard for a long, long time, but now it's comfortable. It means lights up in town, children throwing snowballs, community meals and dances. It means warm nights under your blankets with the furnace of a man you sleep next to, soft salve on chapped hands, a slowing down of the Infected sightings.

And it means Joel chopping wood. He should be doing it in the back yard -- usually does -- but this evening he's finishing up the trunk pieces Jesse left by the steps. A big tree had gone down at the edge of the town clearing and everyone got a few pieces once they'd split it up. Joel will no doubt give Ellie at least half of what he cuts.

The benefit of him doing it out front is you get to watch. His back is to you, but you can see the way his sleeves are rolled up, the damp hair curling over the collar. The exhale when he brings the axe down, the flex of his shoulder blades when he tugs it free of the stump. You could watch him do anything.

As if hearing your train of thought, Joel wedges the axe in the chopping block and turns to face you. He runs a hand through his hair, silver strands catching the orange light, and huffs.

"Enjoyin' yourself?" he says.

You grin at him. "I'd say so."

Two things happen at once. A headache blooms without warning at your temple, sharp enough that you wince and press your fingertips to the skin there. Joel notices and takes a step towards you but then a dog barks and his attention is drawn down the street.

"Naledi!" Ellie yells, jogging up the street after her dog. "Come on, we've talked about this!"

Joel glances back at you but you smile at him, ignoring the blooming pain in your skull. Naledi -- named after one of those characters from Ellie's comics -- runs right up to Joel and noses at his knee until he pets her. The animal loves him. You don't blame her.

"Jesus," Ellie says once she reaches the steps up to the house, panting. "She can run." She looks at the yard and scowls. "Aw, shit, Joel. Did you finish all the wood?"

Joel, one hand scratching behind Naledi's ears, levels her with an unimpressed look.

"Ain't gonna chop itself," he drawls. "Last thing we need is you holdin' an axe."

"Rude," she gasps. "You steal my dog and make fun of me. Are you hearing this?"

Ellie looks at you in mock outrage, cheeks pink from the cold. She's not a teenager anymore, but falls back into it so easily when Joel teases her. It's a treat to witness.

"I don't know, Joel, you've seen her --" You stand in the middle of your sentence and the words stop coming because your vision swims. Black spots dance across the yard and you pitch forward to brace yourself on the railing.

"Oh, fuck," Ellie says. Joel is up the porch and next to you in a blink, arm around your waist to steady you.

"You okay?" he asks, low and serious.

The spots disappear and you take some deep breaths. "I -- stood up too fast, I think."

Joel remains in your space for a few more seconds. Naledi barks, watching the whole thing with a tilted head from the grass below.

"Ellie," Joel says. "You wanna finish up the wood? I think we're gonna go inside."

"Totally," she replies. "Yeah, uh, go lie down, or something. We've got this."

Joel ushers you into the house and sits you down in the kitchen. The sun no longer peaks over the mountains so he flicks on the overhead lights, which make you groan. He's back by your side immediately, tipping your head up with a knuckle on your chin so he can look at you.

"Think you might've caught somethin'," he says. "Bout that time of year." He presses the back of his hand to your forehead and frowns.

You circle his wrist and tug his hand down. "Just tired," you say. "The overnight patrol is catching up with me."

"Hmm." Joel leaves you be and starts to fix you something to eat. You know better than to argue and, frankly, you don't have the energy to make something yourself. He sets some buttered toast in front of you and leans on the island to watch you take a small bite.

"Something to say?" you manage through a mouthful of bread.

He shrugs. "You should go to bed early." It's barely sunset but it sounds like a good idea. "You going to be okay to work tomorrow?"

Your shift at the stables with Ellie. Pretty easy, as far as labor goes. A good night's sleep should make it bearable. "Yeah, it's just mucking stalls."

"Hmm," he says again. You know what that means -- he's thinking, he's decided, he's preparing, but he'll let you reach the same conclusion in your own time. He won't force you into anything, never does, but he most certainly has an opinion.

You change the subject. "Did you grab my journal?" Joel nods and pulls it from his back pocket to set on the table next to your toast. You take another bite to appease him.

"Almost done with that thing," he says. "Gonna need another one."

"If only I knew someone who made them," you tease. That gets a gruff laugh out of him.

"What you writin' about today?"

"You, Tommy, and motorcycles." Tommy had told you all about the famed birthday ride at the last family dinner. Everyone had heard the story but you, so their voices overlapped about a hundred times as they fought to be the one to explain.

Joel chuckles. "You ever been on one?"

You take one more bite of your toast and push the plate away. He's on it in a second, taking it over to the sink.

"No," you reply. "I don't even know the last time I saw a working one. Just stripped metal out in the wild."

"Think you'd like it," he says. "Good way to see things. Bit of an adrenaline rush."

"Yeah, because there's a shortage of that these days."

The joke falls flat and your eyelids start to droop so you don't see Joel's reaction anyway. Your head throbs.

"Bed," Joel says, softly. Hands on your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. "C'mon."

He ushers you up, hand on your back on the staircase. He waits while you brush your teeth and helps you into an old shirt and threadbare pants with a gentle touch.

When you're settled under the covers he perches on the edge of the bed and lays his hand on your forehead once again. A frown makes its way back onto his face and he checks your cheeks, your neck.

"I'm just tired, Joel," you mumble. "It's alright."

"Hmm." He kisses the inside of your wrist lightly and stands. "Gonna go check on Ellie, alright? I'll be back soon."

You fight to keep your eyes open and fail.

__

You feel like shit in the morning. Your head is pounding, your body aching. But you've had worse -- you've had broken bones and bruised ribs. You've been sick, you've been tired, you've been scared. This is nothing compared to life and death. You can muck a few stalls with a headache.

Joel isn't here -- a note on the counter says he got called to fix someone's sink and that he thinks you should stay home. You ignore it and head to the stables, taking deep breaths and walking slow.

Ellie shows up not long after you arrive and finds you leaning on your pitchfork in one of the stalls. Your stomach is churning but you're upright, still.

"You look like shit," she says.

"Thanks, kid," you grumble. "Where's your dog?"

"Dina's taking her on the trails today." They've been training Naledi to smell and track Infected.

You sway a little and make some noise of assent.

"Dude, are you sure you should be here today?"

If you leave now, she'll have to do the stalls herself. "I -- let me do a few more. I'm fine. It's alright."

She gives you a look she almost certainly learned from Joel but doesn't argue.

You are fine...for a little while. Ellie seems content to let you work in silence but you feel her eyes on you as you shovel shit and old hay. Just one more, you tell yourself. Then you'll go home and lie down. One more turns into two turns into three until you're scooping a big pile of straw and the spots dance across your vision again.

"Oh," you say with a gasp, and reach out for the wall, for something, anything to lean on. But your hand finds only air and then you're tipping, tipping, and you hear Ellie's Oh shit! and then --

Nothing.

No, I caught her before her head hit the ground. Are you on your back? Wait til she wakes to move her. Sounds like Esther. God, it smells like shit in here. Someone's hand on your forehead. He's coming --

You blink a few times and the roof of the barn comes into view. A groan makes its way up your throat without permission.

"Fuck," you say. "What --"

"Jesus," Ellie exhales. She's on her knees on one side of you, tugging at her fingers. "God, why did you come to work today?"

"I--"

"Where is she?" Joel's voice echoes through the barn and you try to get up on your elbows when you see him. The sudden movement makes your head pound again and hands on your shoulders help steady you. You're blinking into Joel's face, his creased brow and frown deepening as he kneels next to you.

A warm, weathered palm cups your cheek and his gaze catalogs the scene. He does this a lot -- takes in as many details as he can and makes a quick choice on how to proceed. It's a well-honed ability, one that's kept him alive this long. It's kept you and Ellie alive, and countless others in his company, too. Knowing how bad something is, and whether or not you can fix it.

He huffs, some of the tension melting from his face. "Just tired my ass," he mutters. "How're you feelin'?"

"Guess I fainted," you say weakly.

Ellie snorts. "No shit."

"Guess so," Joel echoes. "You wanna get up?" You nod. He does most of the work, arm around your waist as you stand and sway and end up tucked into his side.

"Surprised your knees work this well," you mutter. He makes a low noise in his throat and squeezes your side but otherwise ignores you.

"Think we're gonna go home, if that's alright," he says. You realize the crowd is a little bigger than you thought. Ellie, Esther, and some of the younger boys who work the horses stand nearby. Your head pounds too much for you to be properly embarrassed. You'll have to thank Ellie later for keeping an eye on you but for now, you let Joel lead you out of the stables without waiting for a reply.

Joel walks you home slowly.

"Did someone come get you?" you murmur. He nods.

"Kid said you fainted," he says. "I see you ignored my suggestion this mornin'."

"Yeah, but if I stayed in bed you wouldn't get to be a knight in shining armor."

There is a small voice in the back of your head that reminds you how bad it can be to be sick in this world. You've all seen it -- sickness takes a few people every year, a handful in bad ones. This is probably just the flu. You know that and Joel knows that. And even that can be dangerous, but you're here with the one man in the world who could defeat pretty much anything. Joel, who will keep you safe, who will see you through it. You really, truly believe that. And you want him to believe it, too.

"How polite of you," he says.

Your boot catches on the ground and you stumble a little. Joel slows you to a stop.

"I'm fine," you remind him. "Just sick, I guess." He huffs but you start walking again. "You really looked worried back there, you know."

"Yeah, well." You reach the stairs up to your house. He tightens his hold on you, practically taking all of your weight as you go up them one at a time. "Was worried you fell into some horse shit. Smell up the whole damn house."

That gets a laugh out of you. He gets you up the porch, across the threshold.

"You gonna listen to me this time?" he asks, sitting you down on the entryway bench. "Stay home, rest up?"

"I'll think about it," you sigh. "You gonna take care of me, Dr. Miller?"

He kneels in front of you to take off your boots and smirks. How many times have you done this? Peeling off each other's boots after a long day. When one of you is sick, when one of you is hurt. Your head is pounding and you almost certainly have a fever but Joel's gentle hands and familiar smirk sets you at ease. You're going to be doing this forever.

"C'mon," he says. "You know I'll take care of you."

He tucks your boots under the bench and puts his palms on your thighs. You lean forward to kiss him and miss by a mile, lips landing at the corner of his mouth.

"My head hurts," you say against his cheek. "I love you."

Joel sighs. "I know, baby," he murmurs. "I got you."

He does.

[vrystalius]

Sanemi’s babies

Sanemi has a small collection of rhino-beetles and is raising them in the garden of your house. Now, his favourite one is missing and he is incredibly distressed.

Pairing: husband!Sanemi x married!gn!reader

Japanese rhinoceros beetle: The Japanese rhinoceros beetle are commonly found in continental Asia in countries such as China, the Korean peninsula, Japan, and Taiwan. In these areas, this species of beetle is often found in broad-leaved forests with tropical or sub-tropical climates.

Sanemi barely gets nervous these days. Since the demons are dead and there are no threats except his own imagination and nightmares, he allowed himself to be more relaxed. Less angry, stressed and full of adrenaline. It’s nice to not have your heart beat at the speed of light and constantly feel alert and paranoid. His biggest worry these days is making sure to keep you happy and taking care of his babies.

They’re not human though, his babies, you two haven’t come that far yet. His Japanese rhinoceros beetles— the ones he raised all the way from eggs, to larvae and to full adult beetles. Sanemi feeds every beetle personally, gave them names, kept track of their relationships with other beetles and build them a habitat himself. He keeps them in the garden of your estate underneath the porch so no birds can pick them up. It’s a daily routine for him to pick the beetles up from their habitat and let them roam around in the garden, keeping a close eye to make sure they’re all safe.

But his time, after picking and placing beetles down onto the lush grass and greeting every single one personally, your husband noticed something. His favourite one, the one he named Geya, is gone. It had a beautiful dark brown, almost black shell and impressive horns on his head, with those he managed to win so many fights your husband put him up with! But now, he’s missing. Sanemi was frantically searching the self-build habitat and all the favourite places of Geya. He’s not on the tree stumps, not buried in the ground or inside the small pile of leafs. So, he counted through all the other beetles again; Onabai is present, so is Yogmei, Gakaya, Nemouk, Misuri, Nobushi and Jitanro. Where the hell is Geya?!

You noticed your husband running around in the courtyard like a lunatic. You stopped in your way to the kitchen for snacks to watch him lift rocks, check every tree on all sides, open the ground by digging with his fingers and counting through his beetles over and over and over again. Sanemi looked so stressed, the sleeves of his yukata crumpled up to his bicep, his veins bulging in his arms and threatening to burst from the sheer intensity of tension in them. You stepped onto the porch and watched your husband crouch over your planted vegetables, his hand itching out to rip them out and check in the soil for his beetle. That made you finally call out to him.

“Shinazugawa Sanemi, just what in the world are you doing?! Get away from my vegetables, now!”

He almost jumped out of his skin hearing your stern voice scold him. Your husband quickly straightened up and faced you, his fists clenched on his sides. His brows were furrowed in stress, but his lips were a little pouty. You saw him mumbling something while kicking his feet slightly. You couldn’t hear him across the garden, so you called out to him.

“What did you say?”

“I lost Geya!!”

Sanemi yelled, the shout being directed at himself and not at you, running his hands through his hair, still avoiding looking into your eyes. He looked embarrassed of loosing his favourite beetle, the one he was the most proud of. Geya had trouble walking during the first few weeks of his early developing after the larva stage, so Sanemi made sure to feed him all the nutrients and more, helped him train to walk by bringing him outside more and introducing him to the other beetles wich helped Geya to copy their walking style. You saw your husband sob after noticing how well his little pride and joy is doing and how his beetle is now walking without problems. Seeing Sanemi so distraught at his missing baby, you cannot not offer help.

“Where does he usually hide?”

“I already checked all his favourite places. He’s nowhere.”

He shrugged and looked around the garden to think of any other places Geya could hide. You nodded and decided to check the inside of the house while he searches the outside again. The beetle was not in the kitchen, nor in the bedroom, bathroom, cellar or wherever else you could think of. While checking the cupboards again in case the beetle was attracted to the foods you store there, starter laughing loudly and parading through the gardens. After lifting your head and glancing outside to the porch, you saw your husband proudly parade through your garden, with Geya sitting on his palms, wich he was holding far over his head. The brightest grin ever spread all over his face after finally finding his beloved beetle.

“Where was it?”

You quickly head outside, watching Sanemi petting and cupping the bug in his palm.

“He was hiding under the porch. You didn’t like the hot sun, didn’t you? Don’t ever do that to me again, okay? Be good now.”

Seeing your husband babytalk a beetle with a quiet, cutesy voice made you want to both laugh and cringe. You know that both reactions will offend him, so you kept quiet and let him have his moment with his so-called baby. Sanemi set Geya down in the grass, reuniting him with his other friends. He proudly watched them all interact and roam around for a moment before gesturing you to come closer. With a sigh, you obliged and stood beside him, glancing down at the beetles. Sanemi wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed kisses all over your cheek.

“I’m so proud of ‘em. So fuckin’ proud.”

Nodding, you placed a return kiss on his cheek. He grinned at the affection and got quiet, just watching his beetles walk around and push each other around. Sanemi broke the silence.

“Let’s have kids.”

“… huh?”

🎃

Fictober prompt: “I can’t find it”

I hope you all get the references with the names XD I wanna imagine Sanemi laying on his stomach, kicking his feet in the air and grinning while watching his beetles fight amongst each other. He’s healing his inner child! Also, I assisted in a school event today and managed to win a couple prizes during a game! I got a chocolate penguin, bread baking cylinders that are designed in different shapes for different shaped bread, an LED lamp and some origami paper!! I love bread so I am very excited about the shape thingies. Also, the chocolate penguin is already eaten and gone.

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves <3

[daryltwdixon]

Chapter 2

series masterlist Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled. || angst, TRAUMA, captor!joel, raider!joel, a little bit of dark!joel, kidnapping, dark themes, morally gray comfort, Pre-Boston QZ, slow burn, this chapter describes death in detail! please heed these tags, reader seeking comfort in ways that may not be comfortable for all readers, softer joel in this chapter ||

The chance didn’t come until days later—on a day when the sun burned weak behind clouds and Joel told you it was time for another bath. By then, your wrists were half-healed from the rope burn, pink and scabbed but still tender, and the ache in your joints had dulled into something manageable. He had been patient with you lately. Too patient. Bringing you food warm from the pan, cutting it small so you wouldn’t have to ask. Speaking to you in soft tones that no longer made your skin crawl. Asking your name. Brushing your hair each morning and braiding it with almost religious care, like each strand was something holy to him. Always the same pattern. Always the same rhythm. You had started speaking back, just enough. A nod here. A muttered answer there. He was trying to earn your trust. Trying to make space for you here.

But he didn’t know about the sliver of floorboard hidden beneath the mattress.

You’d worked at it with your nails in the night, over and over, even when your fingers bled. You’d dragged it across the rusted edge of the radiator until it had sharpened into something with a point. Crude, but it would do. You’d timed everything. Measured the minutes he spent boiling water. The sounds of his footsteps retreating down the hall. You didn’t think. You didn’t hope. You just waited.

And now, the water was heating. The house was quiet.

You slid your hand beneath the mattress and pulled out the splintered, sharpened wood. Your fingers trembled as you fit it between the rope and your wrist and began to saw, slow at first, the pressure against your skin making your teeth clench. The rope was thick, but worn. The fibers frayed more with each tug, and your breath quickened as the strands began to give.

You worked faster. Faster. Clammy sweat collected at your hairline, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t look at the door. You couldn’t afford to.

When the rope finally gave way, snapping with a soft, pitiful sound, you almost cried.

But you didn’t. You ran.

The hallway passed in a blur of wood grain and shadows. Your bare feet slapped the cold floor, silent and frantic. The front door was unlocked—of course it was. He thought you were his now. He thought the fight was gone.

You slipped outside and the wind hit you hard, the sudden cold making your breath catch like glass in your throat. The sky above was heavy with pale clouds, the afternoon stretched thin and grey, the air still holding onto the last brittle edge of winter. The yard was muddy, patches of dying grass giving way to hardened earth. You didn’t stop to take it in. You just moved.

The woods opened up in front of you like a memory long buried.

Branches snagged at your arms and legs, scraping skin raw, but it only made you run harder. The cold bit at your ankles, your toes already going numb, but the adrenaline drowned it all out. You ducked under low limbs, leapt over fallen trees, followed the faint lines of deer trails so narrow and winding they barely left a mark—but you knew them.

And then it hit you.

Not metaphorically. Not in some abstract wave of emotion.

You knew these woods.

You knew that rock with the cracked middle, the one you used to climb and pretend was a shipwreck. You knew the stump just ahead, hollowed out with rot, where mushrooms always grew. The deeper you pushed into the trees, the more landmarks came back to you—not as observations, but as memories. Your body remembered before your mind could even catch up.

These were your woods.

This was your family’s land.

It took the breath from your lungs like a punch to the ribs. You stumbled, caught yourself, and then ran harder, faster, driven by the sudden, electric knowledge that you weren’t far. You weren’t lost—you were home. Or close enough to taste it.

Your throat tightened. Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them. You knew every tree. Every bend in the path. You could map it out in the dark if you had to—because you had. As a child. You had played here. Hid here. Slept here once after a fight with your mother, curled up beneath the same pine boughs that now passed in a blur.

It was all still here. You were still here.

And that meant the house wasn’t far.

Your legs burned. Your lungs ached. But you couldn’t stop. Not when you were so close. You pushed through the brush like a ghost returning to the place they died, sobbing openly now, breath hitching as the air turned colder and thinner. The path sloped down, just like it always had, and you half-slid, half-stumbled toward the edge of the clearing.

And just ahead—through the trees, between the breaks in the brush—

You saw it.

The chimney. The roofline. The front porch with the broken swing.

Your house.

Home.

You stumbled out of the trees, your body barely holding itself upright, your breath coming in sharp, stuttering bursts as the clearing opened wide around you. The house stood just ahead, slouched beneath the weight of the years, the front porch sagging where one of the support beams had rotted through. The swing still hung on its chain, swaying gently in the breeze like someone had just stood up from it.

“Mama!” you yelled, rushing ahead, “Dad, I’m home!”

But the windows were dark. There was no candlelight, no flicker of movement behind the thin, weathered curtains. Nonetheless, your legs kept moving. You crossed the overgrown yard, toes numb, mud seeping into the cuffs of your pants. When you walked up the porch, the steps creaked as you reached for the door handle and pushed it open.

It creaked on the hinges, loud in the dead quiet. The air inside was thick. Warm with the rot of stillness.

The first thing you noticed was the smell.

A sharp, putrid tang of food gone bad. The kitchen was a wreck. Pots and pans scattered across the counter, a cast iron skillet on the stove still full of something congealed and blackened. Bread molding in the corner. Flies buzzing thick around a bowl of fruit, their droning hum like a warning.

You stepped further in. Slowly.

There was a cup knocked over on the table. A half-eaten plate of something you couldn’t name. A fork dropped to the floor. It all looked frozen—like someone had gotten up in the middle of dinner and never came back.

You felt it in your bones before you saw anything.

The wrongness.

Your feet carried you down the hall.

Your breath caught. Became more and more shallow with each step. Your ears filled with static, your pulse thrumming behind your eyes, behind your teeth.

“Mom?”Your voice cracked. “Dad?”

Silence.

The door to the backroom was open.

You didn’t want to look. Every cell in your body screamed not to. But you had to. Of course you did. You had come all this way. You had come home.

The room hit you like a brick wall.

Blood soaked the walls, streaked on the floor like someone had been dragged. Your father was slumped in the far corner, eyes wide, mouth frozen mid-yell, a hole torn through his chest. Your mother—God—your mother lay facedown by the dresser, arms twisted unnaturally, her fingers reaching for something that wasn’t there. And your sister. Your little sister, still in her hoodie. Still wearing the necklace you’d given her when she turned thirteen. Her head tilted too far to the side. Her skin gray.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your knees gave out before the scream even left your mouth.

The ground hit hard. You barely felt it. Just the ice in your lungs. The static in your ears.

You screamed once.

Maybe twice.

Then nothing.

You folded forward, sobbing so hard you couldn’t make a sound, your body curling in on itself like it was trying to disappear. The room spun around you. The walls warped. Everything smelled like blood and dust and something horrible underneath. You choked on your own breath. Hit the floor with your fists. Begged—though you didn’t know who you were begging. Or why.

For some God-forsaken reason, the next thing you thought of was Joel.

Could he have done this? Could he have come back and finished what he started?

But no. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t him.

He’d been at the cabin the whole time he kept you. You knew his sounds by now—the tread of his boots outside, the dull clang of his traps being reset, the creak of the porch steps as he moved back and forth, shaping the place into something like a home. You measured each and every move he made as you planned your escape. You hardly slept just to know the sound of his sleeping breaths compared to his waking ones.

He was never far because he never left.

Someone else had done this. Someone worse. Someone with no rules at all.

You tried to crawl to your sister, to your mom, to anyone, but your arms wouldn’t hold you.

Your stomach twisted, you dry-heaved until you could barely sit up, and finally you collapsed onto your side, cheek pressed against the dusty wooden floor, your breath ragged and wet.

You stayed there.

Until your body gave out.Until your eyes stopped seeing.Until the tears ran out.

And eventually—somewhere in the middle of it all—you fell asleep, still shaking, curled beside the doorway, where the blood had stopped pooling and just dried.

You weren’t sure how long you were laid there. 

But then there was a sound, low and dragging, too close to be the wind. A door creaked open somewhere beyond the fog in your head. It groaned against swollen hinges, and for a second, you thought it was just your memory playing tricks again—one more fragment from the last hour or day or however long you’d been curled here, half-conscious and empty. But then the footsteps came, heavy against the wood, each one deliberate and slow, like the person walking didn’t want to disturb something sacred. Or maybe they were afraid of what they’d find.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even think you could if you tried.

Your head pulsed in slow, wet thuds, your mouth too dry to form even a breath of speech. The tears had long since dried against your cheeks, tightening the skin until it felt foreign. Your arms were numb. Your legs had stopped cramping hours ago, which meant you’d gone too long without water—your body giving up before your mind could catch up.

You were still there, crumpled just past the threshold of the backroom, where the blood had stopped being wet and had begun to flake off the floor like rust. The bodies hadn’t moved. Your mother. Your father. Your sister. They hadn’t changed. They never would again.

The air shifted, the weight in the room tipping slightly, and you knew, somehow, even before you saw him, that it was him. That Joel had found you. And you weren’t sure why you weren’t afraid.

“Jesus Christ…”

You blinked. Your lashes were sticky with dried tears, mouth dry, your lips split at the corners. Every part of you felt hot and cold at once—your skin tight with grime, your clothes damp with sweat and fear, your body buzzing with a low-grade fever of grief.

You couldn’t lift your head or else the room spun too easily. But you saw him framed in the doorway like a ghost, or maybe a savior, or maybe both. Joel.

His face twisted when he saw you, crouched where you’d collapsed, knees pulled to your chest, cheek streaked with dirt and tears. You tried to speak, but your throat burned. Nothing came out. He stepped closer, slowly, like you might break. Or bite.

He looked past you—just once. Into the room where your family still lay. Where the bodies hadn’t moved, hadn’t softened, hadn’t stopped being your family even though they didn’t look like them anymore.

“Shit,” he muttered, quieter this time. His hand came to his mouth, knuckles dragging across his beard. “Shit, sweetheart…”

You tried to sit up, but your arms trembled. The weight of your own body felt impossible. But you made it, forced yourself upright, every movement scraping something raw inside you, your muscles aching like they’d been hollowed out and refilled with lead.

Joel knelt in front of you. He didn’t touch you, he only waited, watching.

You stared up at him, and for the first time, you saw him clearly. Not the man who’d stolen you. Not the monster from your first night, when you were scared and terrified like a little lamb in the maws of a wolf.

Just him.

His eyes were soft. Lined with something you didn’t have the words for. Not pity. Not guilt. 

Recognition.

And so, for the first time, you reached for him.

Your hand trembled in the air, suspended in the space between the two of you like a question. 

His fingers met yours a second later, rough and steady, and you felt the world click back into place. And in that moment, your thoughts came in all at once. Like a flood. Like a dam had cracked.

If you’d been here, you would’ve died.

Not just now. Not just with whoever had done this. But before. With them. With the family that kept you quiet. That taught you love in black and blue. That never noticed how thin you were getting, how quiet you'd become. Who locked doors and pretended it was safety.

And Joel—God, Joel.

He had taken you, yes. That was true. But he fed you, kept you warm, and pulled you from a life you didn’t even know was killing you.

You thought of your reflection in the mirror two nights ago—the first time you’d looked.

The way your cheeks had started to round again. How the sharpness of your collarbones had softened with fat. How your skin had color in it now, not just pallor and bruising and blue veins. You hated that mirror the first few days. You had kept your eyes averted anytime he ran you a bath. But the other day you made yourself look. And you looked… Alive. Not just breathing. Alive.

Your hand gripped his tighter.

And when you looked at him again—really looked—you weren’t afraid.

“I—” Your voice broke, cracked from dryness. You swallowed, pain lancing down your throat.

“Take me home,” you whispered. “Please.”

His eyes closed. Just for a second.

And then he nodded.

Consciousness came and went as he carried you.

The sway of his steps, the rhythm of his breathing, the weight of your own body in his arms—it all blurred in and out like a dream half-remembered, slipping between trees and branches, through narrow deer paths and patches of brush he kept you tucked into his chest against. You drifted in and out, the pain in your head pulsing slow and thick, your limbs weak from dehydration and grief and everything you’d seen.

Once or twice, your eyes opened to fading light. The trees swayed overhead, his beard rough against your temple. The smell of him—sweat, pine, woodsmoke—pulling you back under like the lull of a warm current.

And when you were lucid enough to feel, the irony of it all hit you so hard it left your stomach hollow.

The last time he carried you through these woods, your mouth had been covered by his hand, your body flailing against his shoulder as he hauled you to his cabin. You’d screamed until your throat went raw. You’d kicked, clawed, begged. You hadn’t even known his name.

Now, your arms were draped around his neck. Your hands curled against the collar of his shirt. You weren’t fighting. You were holding on.

And he wasn’t holding you like something stolen. He was holding you like something precious.

By the time he crossed the threshold of the cabin, the last of the twilight bleeding away behind him, your lashes fluttered against his neck. He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask you to stay awake. He just held you tighter.

You pressed your lips to the warm patch of skin above the collar of his flannel.

You whispered your name.

“My name…” you said softly, voice catching on the edge of breath, like it didn’t quite know if it was ready to be heard. “It’s…”You said it again. A little louder. Clearer. Like maybe you wanted him to have it. Maybe you needed someone to carry it now that no one else would.

He didn’t say anything—not at first. But something flickered across his face. Something you hadn’t seen before. Not surprise or even relief, but something more careful than both.

He grunted softly as he eased you down into the old kitchen chair, his movements slow, like your bones might splinter if he wasn’t careful. His hands stayed on your arms a second longer than they needed to, warm and grounding. He lowered to his knees in front of you, the floor creaking under his weight, and he paused. His eyes flicked up, asking permission without words, and then gently he brought his fingers to your face.

He tucked your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching the remnants of old tears, skin still tacky with dried salt and grief. His touch was reverent. Like you were something he didn’t think he’d be allowed to touch with gentleness.

You didn’t lean into him. But you didn’t pull away. Nor did you flinch.

“Let me get you somethin’ to eat,” he said quietly.

You shook your head before the thought had time to finish forming. “M’not hungry.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded once. “Okay.”

But still, he stood.

He moved slowly through the kitchen, footsteps soft. There was no tension in him now, no edge. Only that same careful quiet he’d held in the woods, when he’d carried you out of the wreckage like something sacred. He reached for the old flagon of water and dug out a strip of jerky from the tin on the counter. Not a feast, but something. He placed each in your hands slowly, making sure you had a hold of them before he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely.  He was watching you like he didn’t know what to do now that you weren’t trying to run anymore.

You looked down at the flask in your hands.

You didn’t drink at first. Just held it. Let the metal warm against your palms, let the quiet wrap itself around the both of you. Joel didn’t speak again, didn’t push. He just stood there with his arms crossed and his eyes steady, as if he was trying to memorize the version of you that wasn’t screaming or crying or running. The stillness stretched between you—tense, but not uncomfortable. Just full of everything neither of you had the language for yet.

When you finally looked up, he gave a small nod, like he’d come to a decision.

“I’ll go heat the water.”

It was nearly dark by the time he came back for you.

You hadn’t moved from the chair. The water was long gone, the jerky untouched. But the stiffness in your body had started to settle into something duller, something closer to surrender. When Joel appeared in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, hair damp with sweat from the steam, he didn’t say anything at first. Just gestured softly for you to follow.

You did.

He walked a step ahead of you down the hall, boots creaking on the old wood, pausing only to open the bathroom door and reach inside to light the oil lamp. The glow filled the small space in flickers—clean but plain. A chipped tub, the edges of the porcelain browned with age. Steam rose from the bath, curling into the air like breath. It smelled faintly of pine.

You stepped inside, feet bare on the cold tile, arms folded tightly against your chest.

Joel guided you to the sink and helped you up onto it like you weighed nothing. His hands stayed on your hips for just a second longer than necessary—warm, grounding—before he stepped back.

“I’ll give you a minute,” he murmured, turning toward the door.

But you didn’t move. You didn’t even try. Your arms felt too heavy, limbs too far away from your brain. You stared at the bath, then down at your hands, and the realization hit you slowly, like watching a glass tip over before it shatters. You didn’t have the strength.

Joel stopped in the doorway and looked back once. Something in your expression must have given it away, because he didn’t ask before stepping back over to you.

His hands came up slowly, not to grab, not to take. Just to help.

He found the hem of your shirt, fingers curling against the damp fabric as he crouched in front of you, the room quiet but for the pop of fire and the soft shifting of water in the tub nearby. His voice was low, not quite gentle, but not harsh either—just quiet, like he didn’t want to disturb the stillness you’d both worked so hard to find.

“Lift your arms.”

And you did.

You obeyed without thinking, without speaking, hardly in your own head anymore. The world had narrowed to this room, this moment, the smell of smoke and sweat and whatever strange comfort he carried with him when he wasn’t looking at you like a captor anymore.

His hands moved slowly, tugging the shirt over your head with deliberate care. He didn’t stare. Didn’t leer. His eyes stayed steady, focused only on the task. And yet, you felt it—that awareness, that weight. You were bare in front of him, more naked in this moment than you’d ever been in front of anyone since you were young, but your mind couldn’t quite keep up with it. Couldn’t hold the pieces all at once. It didn’t feel dangerous. Just…strange.

He guided you to the tub, half-filled with lukewarm water from the fire-warmed pot, and eased you down, holding your elbow, keeping you steady.

He started at your shoulders, slow circles, the bar moving in long, quiet strokes down your arms. There wasn’t enough soap left to lather much, just enough to make the surface slick beneath his fingers. Soon it was just his hands, rough and warm, gliding across you like he was scrubbing memory from your skin. Washing you with the shape of his palms. They never strayed—never dipped below where they should, never lingered too long—but they were everywhere, and it was hard to stay present, hard to keep your mind from floating up and out of your body entirely.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no need to.

He reached for one of your hands, held it palm-up in his own, and pressed the soap into it without meeting your eyes.

“Come on now,” he said, soft and quiet, the words almost too tender to be real. “Finish up. Let’s get you to bed.”

You nodded, slow and numb, and did as he asked.

When you were done, when your fingers were water-wrinkled and your shoulders heavy, he cupped his hands under your arms and lifted you out of the tub. He dried you with a few old rags, careful not to press too hard. Neither of you said anything. 

Then he pulled a t-shirt over your head. When the smell of pine and musk and leather invaded your senses you realized it must’ve been one of his. It hung loose on you as he helped you step into your underwear too. You didn’t fight him. You just stood there, dripping quietly onto the floor.

He moved around the bathroom, wringing out the rags, cleaning up like it was just another chore. The fire cracked. Your legs started to ache.

You looked at him. Then, slowly, softly—you spoke.

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

His eyes flicked up to yours. He didn’t move, didn’t speak right away. He just held your gaze like he was trying to understand what you meant. Or maybe he already did. Maybe he was just trying not to react too much. Not to spook you.

“In your bed,” you clarified. Your voice didn’t tremble, but it was quiet. Raw around the edges. “Please… I don’t want to be alone.”

The shift in him was subtle, but it was there, a softening of his shoulders and a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Alright,” he said, just above a whisper. He stepped forward again, then crouched in front of you once more, arms gentle as they slipped around your legs and back, lifting you easily into the air like you weighed nothing at all. You let your head fall against his shoulder. You didn’t cry, didn’t speak. You just let him carry you up the stairs.

The wood creaked beneath his feet, and somewhere down the hall, the cabin settled in its bones.

When he laid you in the bed, the sheets were already turned down. It smelled like pine and flannel and him. He pulled the blanket over your body with the same reverence he used to braid your hair, smoothing it down like it might protect you from everything you’d just lived through.

He turned to leave.

You reached out, catching his sleeve between your fingers.

“Stay,” you murmured.

He didn’t hesitate this time. He climbed into the bed beside you—slow, careful—and laid on his back, his hands crossed over his chest like he didn’t know if he was allowed to relax. You curled into his side without asking, your head tucked into the space between his jaw and shoulder. Then his arm came around you, hesitant at first, then firmer, holding you in that quiet way both of you weren’t completely certain about. Not quite sure what it meant. Not quite sure what it was becoming.

The quiet stretched.

His breath evened out beside you, slow and steady, chest rising gently beneath your cheek. You felt it more than you heard it—the way he exhaled like he was waiting for something to break.

Maybe you.

Maybe himself.

You shifted slightly against him, curling in tighter, your hand dragging across the hem of his shirt, catching it in your fingers. His body tensed beneath you, barely, and your breath caught in response. 

When you closed your eyes, all you could see were their bodies. Your mother’s broken hands, your sister’s empty eyes, your father slumped against the wall.

So you did the only thing you could. The only thing that might pull you out of it. You weren’t really in your body anymore—just floating inside it, heavy and warm, wrapped in the scent of woodsmoke and sweat and whatever lingered on Joel’s skin. You could feel your own breathing, but it sounded far away. Like it belonged to someone else.

And he was warm. God, he was so warm.

Your fingers moved before you really decided to move them, drifting low and uncertain, brushing across the firm line of his stomach beneath his shirt. The cotton lifted just enough to expose bare skin—rough, tanned, dusted with coarse hair. Warm to the touch. Real.

You didn’t know what you were doing. Not really. But it made sense in that moment. More than anything else did. You needed out. You needed to shut the world down, even if it was only for a few minutes.

Joel’s breath caught under your hand.

“Sweetheart…” he said, low and slow, so quiet it didn’t sound like his voice at all.

You shifted without thinking, your body moving on its own. Half over him now, legs tangled in the blanket, your mouth brushing the sharp edge of his jaw. Your voice barely made it out of your mouth.

“Please.”

You weren’t even sure what you meant. Just that you needed something. Something that wasn’t the rot in your head. Something that might make you feel like you still existed.

His hand came up gently, fingers catching your wrist—not roughly, just enough to still you.

“No,” he said, quiet but firm.

You blinked, frozen above him. “Why not?” Your voice cracked, heavy and too small in the dark. “You said if I asked–”

He turned toward you, not pulling away but not pulling you closer either. His hand slid from your wrist to your cheek, callused thumb brushing against your skin. “I know,” he said. “But not like this.”

You swallowed, your throat tight. You didn’t understand.

“Not when you’re hurt.” he murmured, “Not when you’re tryin’ to disappear.”

Your breath hitched. The tears came again, silently this time, warm against the cool air of the room. You didn’t sob. You didn’t move. You just stared at him, blinking hard, wishing he didn’t see through you so easily.

Joel leaned forward slowly, like the moment might break if he moved too fast. He kissed your temple—softly, like it was the only thing he could offer. His lips barely grazed your skin. It was careful. Nervous, even.

“If you still want to in the morning,” he whispered, “we can talk about it.”

He pressed his forehead to yours for just a breath, then eased back into the pillows.

“For now,” he said, his hand still cupping your cheek, “just get some sleep.”

And this time, when he pulled you into him, you didn’t resist.

You just closed your eyes, and let yourself be held.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Love Blues (Part 3) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairings: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore (Sinners)

Warning(s): Mentions of Hoodoo, Explicit Sexual Content, Romance, Violence, Angst, Smoke's POV, Pre-Sinners movie.

Series Summary: Smoke Moore has returned from WWI with his twin brother Stack and meets Annie for the first time. Smitten immediately by the young Creole beauty, Smoke longs to make Annie his own. But he has to get past his brother and another rival suitor first.

Word Count: 10.4K

Masterlist HERE.

"I love you baby so please don't you

Leave me here all alone

I can't stand it baby when you

Leave me here all alone

So wherever you decide to go baby

Just don't stay gone too long"

Keb Mo – "Love Blues"

Smoke drove his father's car with Stack on the passenger side.

They traveled through the cluster of shacks that made up a close-knit community near a river tributary run-off not too far from their mother's home that everyone called Gator Walk because of the occasional sightings of alligators. The fearsome beasts often climbed out of the water to sunbathe on the banks before crawling back to their liquid sanctuary, floating downriver toward the swamplands to lay their clutch of eggs in nests of sticks and mud. Stack wanted to pass by Annie's home to catch her leaving if he could…and to see who with.

Her residence was a modest dwelling that rested on short wood stilts to help protect it from sudden river floods that could spill over into the shacks during the rainy season. Surrounded by tall, sweet-scented lilac bushes, the home appeared empty of occupants.

"Slow down, Smoke," Stack said, lowering his black fedora to hide his face.

"If she sees me driving, she's gonna know it's you right next to me," Smoke said.

"Shut up! Pull over there where she caint see the car…between those trees over there."

Smoke drove where he asked, and they watched for signs of Annie.

"Maybe you should go knock on the door," Smoke said.

"Nah, her daddy might be home. He real strict with her. Shotgun strict. I tried sneaking by her bedroom window one time—"

"When was this?"

"Last Sunday. There's an old tree stump by her room and you can step up on it to tap the shutters. Ain't no glass on it. I thought I could sneak in without the neighbors seeing me while her parents were at Sunday evening prayer service with Uncle Jed."

"What happened?"

"Her parents didn't go to service and her daddy caught me talking to her. I told him I was walking through and seen her looking at the lilac bushes and wanted to know if I could take a few flowers home to my momma. He told me to keep steppin'. But man…the way she smiled when her daddy chased me off. I only got to speak to her for a few minutes. She told me how I could chew on lilac leaves to treat a sore mouth, and all I could do was stare at her mouth while she talked to me. Her lips look so soft. I caint figure her out. She likes me…I know she does. I mean really likes me…but she won't let me get to that next step."

"Maybe she's figured out that you only want her for one thing."

"That's not true. Okay…in the beginning it was…but now…"

"Now?" Smoke asked.

Stack sighed and took off his hat.

"She makes me think about things. Asks me so many damn questions about myself that I never thought about before. She talks to me like the fellas do…like a regular friend."

"Maybe that's all she wants."

"She stares at me sometimes like she wants me. When I try to get close to her…going in for the kiss, cuz you know I knock 'em out with a good kiss…she always pulls back. Ain't no woman ever turned down a kiss from Big Stack. I kinda like it though. It builds up anticipation and shit. I just wanna get her alone and on her back… hear her talk all that Creole to me while I'm stroking my way to glory. Shit gets my dick hard."

"Alright…you ain't gotta share all that."

"It's true! I caught her walking home once from our place and she's telling me about something momma showed her and she stopped talking English, like she's too excited to get the words out and forgot we ain't in New Orleans. I'm listening to her and lookin' at them big ol' hams she got for titties. That girl got me all twisted. My pecker started swelling up and I had to leave her before she caught me pokin' outta my pants. She real different, Smoke."

Stack glanced over at the shack again.

A restless unease settled in Smoke's chest. He toiled with telling his brother the truth of his own attraction to Annie.

"Don't get your hopes up tonight or get mad if she avoids you. We don't need to hear y'all fussing and messing up the mood," Smoke said.

"I ain't talkin' to her. I made up my mind that she gotta come to me first if this thing between us is going to happen."

"What if it don't happen?"

"Oh, it will. Once she gets a gander at me with other women. She'll get jealous. Miss Annie Belizaire will come jiggling over to me, speaking all that sweet Creole in my ear, and I will sweep her off her feet. Watch and see."

Stack stuck his hat back on his head.

"Let's go," Stack said. "Ain't nobody here."

Smoke shifted gears and drove out of Gator Walk, headed for the jump up. A soft breeze bathed their faces in the late summer air. Fall would come soon. He thought of projects that needed to be done around his mother's property and calculated a budget for him and Stack to live on that would carry them over into the New Year and beyond.

Arriving at the secluded location, Stack leaned over the door of the automobile, catcalling the young women that strolled toward the old abandoned barn where Cornbread's party awaited them. Six horse-drawn wagons rolled in, one at a time, filled with young people. A couple of field trucks loaded with more revelers arrived, and the rest traveled on foot. The sun slanted to their left, keeping the temperature bearable. The excitement of being around a host of other young adults crackled the atmosphere with a vibrant energy. Smoke couldn't wait to submerge his entire self in good country fun. It would be the twins' first post-war party with their own people.

Cornbread's elder uncle Lodie and his older brother Matthew took on the important task as barbecue pit masters for the event. They lorded over two ground pits covered with tarps and held down with large stones where two huge roasted pigs had slow-cooked for hours overnight. The men pushed away the big rocks and yanked back the tarps. Heavy white smoke drifted across the main set-up area in front of the barn where a giant fire pit waited, piled with chopped wood for the bonfire later in the evening. Smoke sniffed the heavenly scent of smoked pork and almost salivated thinking of eating it with red sauce and white bread.

"Slow down, Smoke. Let's give these pretty women a ride so they can rest them nice thick legs," Stack cajoled, waving for the two women, Geeshie and Mayola, to come over to him.

Smoke slowed down their all black Model T, and Stack hopped out, opening the side door for the women to climb in. Geeshie grinned and Smoke couldn't help but glance at her slinky orange dress and enticing wide hips. Mayola carried a svelte frame and her Marcel waves framed her oval face like a movie star.

"That's it ladies, make yourselves comfortable as we escort you to this here jump up," Stack purred.

The new gold on his teeth gave him a trickster's persona, and Smoke slid his tongue over the bit of gold on his own teeth worn on the opposite side. Both men had to take care of decayed teeth worn down from lack of dentists willing to repair colored teeth in Clarksdale. Thankfully, the army paid for their dental work. Taiwo had been so shocked to see their two mouths full of gold like their daddy.

He parked in back of the barn to hide the car from prying eyes and helped Mayola out while Stack helped Geeshie out on his side. His brother left his jacket on top of Smoke's in the back of the car. He tugged on his suspenders and swiped his hand down his clean shirt. Stack advised they dress casual and comfortable. If any fights broke out from drinking, their good clothes wouldn't get ruined with bloody cuts or tears.

Smoke expected at least one or two people to test him and Stack. Their unsavory reputation preceded them and since they'd been gone for three years, other young men might think they were the top dogs of Clarksdale. Wouldn't hurt to set some men straight if they started puffing out chests. Smoke carried a gun on his ankle in case he needed to add an exclamation point for any man brave enough to step to them.

He could already feel the ripple of nervousness among a few of the young people who didn't know them personally. They gave head nods and a few handshakes. Cornbread rushed over, thankfully pulling him away from Mayola.

They joined a slew of young men and women dressed to party gathered inside the barn where an old cutting table held Coca Cola bottles and root beer, along with Wonder Bread, warm hushpuppies, and fried okra in big pans. Stacks of tin plates waited to be used right next to a spread of forks. Everyone buzzed with anticipation as a group of musicians warmed up their instruments near stacks of old hay being used as seats. Two fiddlers, a guitar player, and a man wearing a metal washboard holding two spoons riled folks up with the first song.

A slick buddy named Ghost Eye Terry pounded his hands on a crate to create a drum beat. As kids, Terry tried Smoke one time too many, and he busted the man's eye with a fist when he stole Stack's penny candy on a fishing trip, injuring the retina. It never healed properly and eventually clouded over, thus the nickname Ghost Eye followed Terry through life.

Once the harmonica player started wailing away with a yearning sound, no one wasted time dancing.

Mayola resumed her grip on his arm and tried to walk through the rest of the barn with him, pretending he brought her there as his date. He scanned the growing group for signs of Annie. So did Stack. His brother's lips poked out with disappointment.

She wasn't there.

A few men started carrying haystacks out toward the circular firepit prepping seats, and Smoke's stomach grumbled. Cornbread laughed.

"We'll be eating in five minutes, promise," Cornbread said.

Smoke nodded.

Lodie, Matthew, and Cornbread soon loaded up the wrapped pigs onto two nearby carts. They cut away the chicken wire and then the protective burlap bags that kept the moisture in. Several people came out to watch as the succulent meat fell off the bone.

Cornbread rubbed his hands together.

"Yeah, they seasoned up real good. Uncle Lodie stuffed them with carrots, onions, and oranges…look how tender it is…ooh wee, we gettin' some good eatin' tonight," Cornbread enthused.

The birthday host headed to the barn with Smoke close on his heels.

"Grab you some plates, everybody! Time to eat while it's hot!"

"Get you a plate first," Smoke said.

"I surely will," Cornbread said.

Cornbread lifted a plate and added some bread and hushpuppies to it.

"Somebody help me grab the pots of sauce," Cornbread said.

Smoke lifted an iron pot, and another young man grabbed the other. Both had spoons in them to ladle out the tomato-based condiment. Once Cornbread piled up his plate, a line formed, following him out to the pit masters where they loaded up on pulled pork slathered in barbecue sauce.

Smoke strolled back to the barn to get a plate and noticed Bo rolling in on a small horse cart chauffeuring Grace, Annie, and two other young Black women he didn't know. Bo guided the horse to the spot others left their animals and wagons. Smoke trotted over to greet them.

"Bo," Smoke said.

His eyes stayed on Annie. Bo jumped down and assisted Grace out first. Smoke helped the two other women out, and then Annie last. Clasping her warm hand caused his heart to thump faster. She held it tight and let go quickly out of modesty.

"Hi," she said.

She recognized him from his brother easily by the way his lips never curved upward animatedly, the way Stack's did. He glanced over her short-sleeved, pale yellow summer dress with a collar and pearl buttons that fastened up the front.

Her luminous dark skin smelled like she slathered it with calendula-scented oils that wafted off of her hair, too. She decorated the twists in her tresses with yellow sewing thread all the way down the back of her neck, adding a cluster of baby's breath flowers at the ends. She looked regal, especially with the touch of ruby lipstick she must have borrowed from one of the other women. He knew her parents forbid make-up for their daughter. Church people thought red lips were a sign of the Jezebel spirit.

Bo slapped him on the shoulder.

"We made it in time for barbecue hot off the pit," Bo said.

"Yep," Smoke said.

Bo glanced at Annie, then Smoke. He cleared his throat to get Smoke's attention.

"How's it going, Grace?" Smoke asked.

"Good. Where's your other half?" Grace said, looking over his shoulder for signs of Stack.

"Around here somewhere, probably in line for the food," Smoke said.

Annie lowered her eyes at the mention of Stack.

"We should get in line before Cornbread goes for seconds," Bo joked.

Annie brought forward the two other young women with them.

"This is Donetha and Caldonia. Ladies, this is Smoke Moore," Annie said.

Caldonia took a step back and Donetha gasped out loud.

"Smoke, as in the Smokestack twins?" Donetha said.

"They don't bite," Annie said, winking at Smoke.

"Go on and get your food," Smoke said, stepping aside.

Bo and Grace strolled over to the barn, and Smoke stayed near Annie as she walked with the other two women.

"Donetha, stop acting so scared," Annie hissed.

"I'm sorry, but I heard nothing but bad things about you and your brother," Donetha said.

Caldonia smacked her friend's shoulder.

"Ow!" Donetha said.

"Don't be rude in front of the man's face. What if he shoots us?" Caldonia said.

"I won't shoot you ladies, not unless you do something that deserves it," Smoke teased.

His deadpan expression encouraged the women to shuffle ahead to get away from him.

Annie gently pinched his shoulder.

"Why would you say that to them? Now they won't come ten feet near you."

Her grin lightened the scolding she gave him.

"Annie?"

Smoke turned to see who called her.

Beau Willie.

He walked up to them from the barn. Smoke didn't notice him earlier when he first arrived.

"I didn't know you were coming. I would've asked your father if I could pick you up. Me and Buster went around gathering a few folks here in my father's wagon," Beau Willie said.

He completely ignored Smoke.

"I rode over with Bo Chow and three of my girlfriends. My parents don't know I'm here. I'd like to keep it that way," she said.

"Understood. Can I get you something to drink? They have Coca Cola and root beer," Beau Willie said.

Smoke grew agitated. Annie sensed it.

"Maybe later, Beau Willie. You know Smoke Moore?" she said, bringing Smoke into the conversation.

"I know him. You ain't been back long, Smoke. How's it feel to be in Clarksdale again?"

"No different from when I left."

"Come get in line for a plate, Annie," Beau Willie said, gripping her elbow to guide her away from Smoke.

"We'll speak again real soon, Annie. I think you and I have an appointment to kick up our feet later," Smoke drawled out.

Annie grinned, and Beau Willie's jawline clenched. He whisked her away and Smoke didn't feel the need to one-up Beau Willie in that moment. Annie knew he was coming for her.

Stack appeared, carrying a plate of food already. He looked at Beau Willie escorting Annie to the end of the table line.

"Hmmph. She thinks Beau Willie is supposed to aggravate me? That boring ass goodie-two-shoes?" Stack said.

Smoke glared at Beau Willie. He was a little too comfortable with Annie. Touching her arm. Brushing lint off her shoulder. Cockblocking. They must've known each other well already. Beau Willie was a pious Christian, the type Mr. Belizaire would like for his daughter.

"This food is good," Stack said, scarfing down his pulled pork sandwich. Barbecue sauce painted the corners of his lips.

Smoke went and grabbed a plate and waited his turn to fill up on a hearty meal of tender pork meat. There was plenty of food, and he softly tapped his foot to the music spilling out from the barn. A barbecue under a pleasant country sun was what he needed to get acclimated into the slow southern way of life again.

After he fixed his sandwich, he took a seat next to his brother outside who entertained a bevy of beauties who weren't afraid to get near the twins. Cornbread joined them and Smoke was pleased to see his friend so happy. From his viewpoint, he watched Annie take her plate indoors with her girlfriends alongside Bo. Annie and Grace seemed close and laughed together while their shoulders touched. Beau Willie followed behind her, carrying his plate and two root beers.

Annie towered over a lot of the other women, and it only enhanced her attractiveness. She literally stood out with her unique hairstyle and the bright yellow dress that reminded him of corn silk. Granted, there were plenty of gorgeous women wandering about that could've tickled his fancy. He only had eyes for the woman his brother wanted.

A gnawing at the pit of his stomach brought him back to reality.

Clearly he had to compete with Beau Willie, too.

He picked at the rest of his food and listened to all the chatter going on around him without participating. Stack regaled the women sitting next to him with stories about the war and Europe. Some men gathered behind him to listen in on the danger they faced, the food white people ate overseas, and how many men died gruesome deaths. The stories enthralled them. Stack could weave a tale like a spider and create enough sticky webbing to hold an audience for hours. Their daddy was like that. He would mesmerize men on their old porch, pluck at his guitar or the old banjo, and orchestrate a rousing good time. Maybe that's why he beat Stack so much. Too much of his nature bled through his baby boy. Whatever demons Cash wrestled with, whatever life-altering thing that happened to him when he went out into the world, he clocked it bubbling up through Stack. Noticed it in Smoke, too. Then the fists came. All the beatings. Split lips. Black eyes. All the blood-curdling screams from Taiwo as she fought to pull Cash off them.

Smoke's hands shook with tremors, and he put his plate down on the ground. Stack noticed. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pouch of tobacco and rolling papers. Made Smoke a cigarette. He lit it, took a drag first, then handed it to Smoke.

The musicians cut the music to eat some food before the party kicked it up a notch. No one noticed the lack of music playing. They were busy catching up and passing around a fat bottle of hooch that they poured into cups. The warm communal feel of the gathering seduced him into relaxing for a change. Stack was in his element, impressing the ladies, and Smoke wouldn't have to watch over him so much for the night.

Life could be good for them.

The bank sidetracked them, but the spirited enthusiasm of their peers bolstered his sense of hope for the better. He had a mother to care for and younger relatives who looked up to him and Stack. If he played his cards right, he could have a woman as well.

The music cranked back up and men grabbed the hands of the women they desired and danced until dust kicked up inside and outside the barn. No one cared.

Cornbread pulled out dice from his right trouser pocket and shook them in a fist.

"You boys ready to throw these bones and wager some bets?" Cornbread said.

Stack passed Smoke the flask of whiskey they shared and swallowed a sizeable amount that heated his blood. His brother pulled out some cash and a group of eight men shadowed Cornbread to the side of the barn where a large slab of wood rested against the wall like a flat table. Stack heckled the other men, and Smoke took a smaller sip of whiskey before handing the flask to Cornbread. Sauced up by the liquor, Cornbread passed it around to the others.

"I got three more bottles of corn liquor and gin for later. Summa you fellas might get lucky up in the barn tonight! Get your peckers wet in some hot juicy pussy."

They tossed their coins and cash on the ground. Smoke shook the dice in his closed hand first. He blew on them for good luck three times and threw them with expertise. They bounced against the barn wall, rolling the number he wanted.

"Muthafucka!" Cornbread yelled.

Smoke came out hot with a seven on the first toss.

"There ya go, big brother! Spank these niggas' asses with that Moore magic touch," Stack cackled, throwing more money down.

They played, drank, and laughed uproariously. Smoke enjoyed the camaraderie and laughter of his brother by his side.

Smoke kept his eye on Annie.

The party turned out to be a lively ring-a-ding-ding, and she flitted about, easily attaching herself to various clusters of conversations and line dances. Beau Willie hovered near her and Stack kept true to his word, staying away from Annie despite the occasional sneak peeks he took to see if she paid any attention to him.

She didn't.

Every time she looked Smoke's way, she smiled at him before her friends pulled her off to mingle with others. Smoke noticed she drank the harder stuff and wasn't shy about speaking to other men who vied for her attention. He stood near the musicians and watched folks sway and rock their bodies. Annie cut loose and danced a few times with Beau Willie while Smoke played dice earlier, but as the rosy-orange alpenglow of the setting sun struck her face, and the music changed to a more sensual offering, he made his move on her.

He passed by Stack who danced close and slow with a woman named Josephine. The way his brother's hips moved, he'd probably drag Josephine back to their car or up to the second level of the old barn to hike up her dress and get busy. With his brother's preoccupation and Annie no longer a concern to him, Smoke seized the opportunity to act.

Cornbread and some other men lit large kerosene lamps and distributed them throughout the barn, setting a romantic mood early. Bellies were full, and most people were tipsy from the liquor. Matthew started the bonfire and the crackling of the kindling and the odor of fresh smoke shifted everyone's mood to thoughts of partnering with someone for the rest of the evening.

Annie spoke to Grace and Mayola. Mayola grinned and waved at Smoke like she expected him to come to her. Annie noticed her enthusiasm and Mayola whispered something in her ear. The expression on Annie's face withered, but she quickly recovered when she looked at Smoke again. Before he reached her, Caldonia approached her.

"Annie, should we bring the cakes out now before it gets too dark?" Caldonia said.

"Oh, shoot! I forgot about the birthday cakes. Lord, where is my head right now? We better get them and sing happy birthday to Cornbread before he gets too drunk to remember," Annie said.

"Guess I'll have to wait for that dance, then?" Smoke said.

"Not for long," Annie said. "Could you get Cornbread for me and have him go to the food table? We can sing to him and cut the cakes up before the sun goes completely down."

"Sure."

"Thank you," she said.

Smoke trudged over to where Cornbread cracked jokes and flapped his gums about the signifying monkey. He was in the center of a small circle of men clapping their hands and building an intricate rhythm on their thighs and chests, while he took verbal shots at his friend Lil Percival. Cornbread's verbal dexterity almost rivaled Stack's ability to rap with the fellas in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah, he's talkin' 'bout yo mama and yo grandma too… and he don't show no respect for a nigga like you! Now you weren't there… and I'm sho' is glad… 'cause what he said about ya mama… made me mad!"

The men threw back their heads and howled with laughter that ricocheted against the barn wall outside. Lil Percival took his turn to out-do Cornbread. His short stature made their exchange look comical since he had to look up to Cornbread's big, wide body. Lil Percival wagged a finger up at his face.

"Signifying monkey stay up in your tree… you don't wanna mess with a man like me… always lying and signifying… signifying monkey stay up in that tree… but ya better not monkey with a killa like me!" Lil Percival barked out, keeping his words sliding on the beat of the handclaps and hambone body slapping.

Smoke listened to a few more lines before breaking up the verbal sparring.

"Hey, Cornbread. Annie wants you back inside for something," Smoke said.

"Oh, yeah? She wanna dance with me?" Cornbread said, tugging on the straps of his overalls.

The expression on Smoke's face told Cornbread to not even think about it.

"Guess I'll go see what she wants," Cornbread said, shambling off.

"Y'all can go in too…help sing happy birthday," Smoke said.

Everyone crowded into the barn where Annie and Donetha lit candles on three big chocolate cakes with white icing.

"Aw Annie, you ain't have to do all this for me!" Cornbread said with delight in his round eyes.

A woman behind Annie belted out Happy Birthday, and all the others joined in. Cornbread blew out the spread of twenty-two candles across all three rectangular cakes. Annie cut Cornbread a big chunk, and he ate it with his fingers, letting the icing paint his greedy lips.

Everyone who wanted a piece ate cake, and the music continued. Stack headed for the fire pit to get a sip of gin, and Smoke made a beeline for Annie.

"May I have this dance, Miss Belizaire," he said.

The radiance of her smile warmed him.

"You may, Mr. Moore."

He took her hand and followed behind Bo who swept Grace in his arms and twirled her out before pulling her back in.

Smoke held Annie's hand and took her to the center of the barn. The flickering of the lights in the kerosene lamps glinted on her earrings. They stood face-to-face, and he touched her dangling silver earrings with tiny blue gemstones at the bottom.

"What took you so long to ask me to dance, Elijah?"

He exhaled softly at the sound of his birth name rolling off her lips.

"I had to wait my turn, I guess. You're the most popular woman here."

"I only wanna dance with you."

Smoke stepped closer, letting her breasts brush against his chest. He wrapped both his arms around her waist, and she curled her delicate hands around his neck. Rocking their bodies slowly, he led the pace in time to the music.

"You're good," she said. "I thought maybe you couldn't dance because I didn't see you out on the floor at all."

"Been a little busy."

"Shooting craps and drinkin'?"

"Yeah. Is that a problem for you?"

"No. I drink. Can't shoot craps though."

"I can teach ya."

"I wanna learn."

"Okay."

The feel of her lushness in his arms awakened a need in him. He wanted her for himself and would have to tell his brother about his feelings before the night was through. They swayed in another direction and Beau Willie stared at them, his mouth fixed in a scowl.

"Is Beau Willie fixed on courting you?" he asked.

"He asked my daddy's permission two years ago, but I was too young then. We tried sneaking around, but my father would've found out. I'm the youngest of seven daughters from a seventh daughter. My daddy made sure all my sisters were married off to respectable men in New Orleans. He aims to do the same for me in Mississippi. Beau Willie knows that."

"What about now?"

"I'm old enough. He has my daddy's permission, too."

"How you feel about that?"

Her head rested on his neck, her lips blew warm air on his skin that curled his toes.

"I used to be crazy about Beau Willie. When I was sixteen, I couldn't wait to be old enough to step out with him. He was the first boy I ever kissed."

"And?"

"I like somebody else now…I like you, Smoke. But didn't you bring Mayola here as your date?"

"Nah, I gave her a ride from the road to the barn. Dassit."

"Good, because I don't like drama. I ain't never fought over a man in my life and I don't plan on startin' tonight."

"My brother really likes you, Annie."

"I know. But he ain't you. He'll have to come to terms with that on his own."

"Will your daddy let me court you if I ask him for permission?"

Annie lifted her head and looked at him.

"Your uncle told him about you after we first met. Warned him to keep me away from you and your brother. My parents don't even know I hang around your momma every day. They don't want me practicing Hoodoo."

"Why not?"

"My grandmother taught me back in New Orleans and I carried what I know here with me. The moment I met your momma, I was drawn to her. I recognized a kindred spirit, but my parents…they're Christians who only want the power of Jesus to guide me. There's more to that, like our ancestors and the power of healing through rootwork, and I want to hold on to what I've learned since I was seven years old. I'm saying all this Smoke because my daddy…he'll never give you permission to be with me."

Smoke ground his molars together.

Uncle Jed.

The uncle who partied hard with his big brother Cash ran from town-to-town with him back in the day, whoring and fornicating with the odor of liquor seeping from his pores. The man who told Taiwo that sometimes his brother had to step out on his wife to keep the peace in their house.

A fucking hypocrite.

Smoke ran his hands up her back, squeezing the softness there and pressing his crotch against her front to feel the warmth of her body all over. They slow dragged through several songs, and he never wanted to let her go. Ever.

He slid his hands below her waist and palmed her backside briefly, just to cop a quick feel.

"You ain't slick," she said.

She leaned back with a smirk on her face.

"I was just moving my hands, and they slipped," he said.

Her eyes twinkled.

"You can smile," she said.

She touched his right dimple and then dragged her finger across his lips to the other side of his face to touch the other one.

"Your face lights up so bright when you smile. I want to see you smile more…for me."

He lowered his gaze bashfully and pursed his lips to keep his face composed.

"No, don't try to hide it…it's out now. Can't take it away from me," she teased.

She lifted his chin to raise his eye level to align with hers. He pressed his forehead against hers and sighed.

"I'm going to see your father tomorrow. I will ask him for permission to see you properly. If he says no, I'm going to keep asking him until he says yes. I know he wants the best for you…wants to protect you and make sure the right man comes along who can take care of you. A father is supposed to do that for his daughter. I respect that. I'll do whatever it takes to gain his trust in me."

Annie stared at him. He'd stopped moving in time to the music and rushed out his thoughts before he lost the nerve.

"I ain't got much right now, coming back from the war and all…but I'm a hard worker and I plan on owning my own business one day. I ain't no good Christian. Been baptized, but I backslide a lot. Got a lot of my daddy in me that I try to control…drinkin', gambling, hangin' in places of ill repute all night. But I'll never lie to ya, Annie. I want a wife and family one day…and I guess I'm tellin' ya all this because it's important for you to know that I won't play with your heart. No matter how terrible me and my brother's reputation may be to you, I sincerely hope you'll give me a chance to prove myself worthy of being yours."

He clamped his lips together. The rush of words unsettled him. Lightheaded, he stepped back from her.

"You can really talk when you want to Elijah Moore," she said.

She entwined her fingers with his.

"Let's go get some air," she said.

He nodded and led her to a side door in the barn that took them out to some small trees. The sun left completely and the evening air felt cooler.

"Look," she said, pointing ahead toward an open area.

A swarm of fireflies darted about, creating the illusion of hundreds of yellow stars dancing in a black velvet sky.

Smoke marveled at the sight. The wonderment of it all seemed extra special with Annie by his side.

"Watch this," she said.

She left his side and the space where she once stood created an uncomfortable vacuum to his peace of mind. He watched her saunter over to the flurry of firefly activity and stand in the middle of the sparkle, holding her arms out to her sides.

The swarm parted at her invasion, their synchronous flashing lights glowing all around her until hundreds alighted upon her hair, arms, legs, and dress. Annie appeared to him like a queen of the fairies in a balmy southern night. Heaven must've looked like that.

She was magic.

Smoke touched the left side of his chest where his heart used to be. It had flown over to be with Annie, floating near hers, beckoning him to walk toward her. He sauntered through the flickering display, the whirring of tiny wings lightly grazing the skin on his face as he joined her in the center of the twinkling.

"The scent of the oil on my skin draws them like nectar," she said.

She indeed appeared to be a dazzling and delectable flower for the insects. But she was more than that to Smoke.

He'd listened to her talk for weeks with his mother and learned parts of her she probably didn't even know he heard. How she prayed for him and Stack with his mother while they were away. She shared the burden of her mother's fears for them in Europe, without even knowing them herself. All she had to go by were the pictures he and Stack took before they traveled overseas, the pictures his mother kept above her mantle. A traveling photographer took the black and white pictures in front of the house where the haint blue Taiwo kept the porch and door painted didn't even show up as a shadow on film. Stack grinned wide and Smoke only looked directly at the camera, hoping the photos gave his mother solace while they were gone fighting. Annie had used those pictures to be his guardian angel.

Had she made her choice then on who to pick based on the photos?

Annie spun in a circle and the fireflies swirled around her like a cloud of bursting nebulas and streaks of gold lightning. Her playful laughter drifted up into the dark sky, where starlight and a silvery moon bathed her skin in deep blue hues.

"Annie," he said, ignoring the fireflies prancing on his shirt.

"Yes?"

He cradled her face and kissed her.

Her lips were so soft.

Pliant.

He slipped his tongue between the seam that she parted for him and sought the relief that only she could give him. Her tongue followed his lead and slid back and forth against his before she explored his mouth on her own with gentle plundering that pulled moans from him that he couldn't hold back. He slanted his head for her to take what she wanted from him and they did an awkward dance to figure out what worked best for them until he locked in on holding her tight. They kept tilting their heads and sucking on tongues with a breathy desperation. He loved the feel of her full lips brushing against his plush ones, and when Annie started tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth, her mouth became ravenous.

His arousal came on strong and the thickening in his pants pressed into her. He rocked his hips forward to grind against her and she released his lips, licking a trail along his neck and up to the shell of his ear, where she nibbled the top of his earlobe. He groaned and his mouth fell open. Exhaling and panting, Smoke melted under her touch.

"Mwen ka renmen ou pou tout tan," she whispered in his ear.

"Whatchu say, baby?" he panted.

The tip of her tongue traced swirls along his earlobe in a slow circular fashion and she kept speaking Creole to him as if she were telling him all the nasty things he wanted her to do to him. He quickly understood the allure that her native tongue brought out in his brother. His erection strained against his trousers and she kept seducing him with whispery Creole. The tip of his dick leaked pre-cum and the root already started throbbing with anticipation.

"Dis-moi que tu es à moi?" she said.

"W-w-whatchu sayin'?"

"Tell me you're mine, Smoke."

"Baby, I'm all yours."

Her teeth grazed against the tender flesh of his ear again and she slipped her warm tongue inside his ear, darting it in and out with slow gentleness. He whimpered and gripped the side of her throat. His tongue sought the tender parts of her neck as he sucked, nibbled, and licked on it with an ardor that nearly overwhelmed him. It was her turn to hiss and whimper as he scraped his teeth down to her collar.

"I gotta take you somewhere else," he panted, pulling away from her.

Threading his fingers with hers, he pulled her from the twinkling mist of fireflies.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

Ahead of him, his father's old car shined under the pale moonlight.

"My car," he said.

He could've taken her up to the second floor of the barn, but Stack may have noticed. Beau Willie, too.

"Here, get in the back," he said, opening the door for her.

Annie shook her body free of the remaining fireflies. He did the same. She climbed in the car and followed behind her. The moon was bright enough to flood the interior. Her eyes shined with the anticipation he also felt in his gut. God, she was so beautiful. Nineteen and so full of life.

He touched a soft tuft of hair near her ear that unraveled from the yellow thread. There was no telling when he'd be able to see her again. If her father kept a tight leash, he'd have to savor every moment with her that night. He leaned in and she met him halfway. Their lips touched, and he let her discover the parts of his mouth that satisfied her curiosity. Every time she sucked on his tongue or whispered Creole in his ear, his dick jumped in his pants.

He finally reached his tipping point and fondled a breast. The abundance in his hand spilled over and he groaned louder while squeezing. Annie pulled away. Her eyes had a glassy sheen to them. Arousal bathed her face in lust. He glanced at her breasts.

"You want to touch me?" she asked.

He bit his bottom lip and nodded in the affirmative.

"I'll be a little sweaty from dancing and all this heat, though."

"I don't care."

She unbuttoned the top of her dress and he helped her pull down the sleeves in the cramped space of the back seat. Her white bra seemed to glow. She slowly pulled down each strap and her voluptuous breasts spilled out.

"Fuck," he said under his breath.

He stared at her titties like he'd never seen breasts before.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"No…you're beautiful Annie. I just wanna look at you. Drink it all in, baby."

The moonlight on her skin dazzled his eyes. She looked unreal. Beyond ethereal. With any other woman, he would've pounced and got down to business, exploiting a carnal situation to his complete satisfaction. But the eroticism she displayed for him had Smoke shook.

She looked down at his dick and swiped her tongue across her top lip, exciting him more. He finally reached over and touched her left nipple. It pebbled quickly and extended out to his delight. Big tits and big nipples. Heaven.

He pinched and played with her nipples, learning the best touches that she liked along the way. Soon he squeezed and lifted them with both hands, fearful of cumming in his pants because she had him under her spell. Her lips quirked and bunched up with all of his gentle breast play. He lowered his head and sucked on a plump nipple, tasting the salt on her skin from the perspiration she warned about. He didn't mind. It gave her skin extra flavor. She moaned out loud and called out his name several times. He kept right on sucking, switching it up with the other nipple, and then smashing her big tits together so he could flick his tongue quickly across each nipple back and forth.

"These titties are so big, Annie," he grunted.

He palmed them and she helped arouse him more by lifting their weight and holding them together for him.

"Tryna tease me, woman?" he said.

She laughed, her eyes crinkling up tight. Her gaze drifted to his lap. She licked her lips again.

"You want to touch it? You made it hard…so fast," he huffed out.

"Yes."

He pulled down his suspenders. Annie started unbuttoning his shirt. His curious eyes met hers.

"I want to touch your chest, too," she said.

He let her finish. She liked what he presented. Her index finger traced a path across his pecs. He unfastened his pants and lowered them with his underwear. Her eyes grew wider looking at his dick. He reached for her hand and guided it to the stiffness.

"It's so hot… and big," she panted.

Her hand knew what to do. She stroked him firmly up and down. Pre-cum gushed out of his deep slit and spilled all over Annie's nimble fingers. He stared at her tits and let her jerk him off. No wonder Beau Willie chased after her. Those big areolas and dark satin coloring on fat tits had Smoke wiggling in his seat. Shit felt so good that he gasped when his balls started pulsing with the friction she created going up and down. He became feverish with lust and licked his lips.

Clutching a breast, he held it with a firm grip. The heft turned him on in the worst way as he imagined taking her from behind. He craved the sound of her breasts smacking together while he fucked her, holding her bent over somewhere private, plunging into some slippery wet pussy that drained his balls. His groan deepened and Annie worked his fat dick up and down…up and down…up and down with such exquisite dexterity that his right leg shook. How deep was her pussy? Could he cram all the thickness she stroked inside of her?

His thoughts turned to Beau Willie. Had he fucked Annie? She didn't seem nervous, like someone inexperienced. He clenched his jaw with jealousy. If Beau Willie had her first, Smoke would have to turn Annie out to erase that man from her memory. His dick throbbed hard in her grasp. The heavy spilling of pre-cum helped keep his dick slippery for her delicious hand-job. His lips bunched up, and she had his dick on the verge of spitting everywhere.

He reached for his pants pocket and pulled out the handkerchief he kept there. He'd need it for the explosion that built up in his nutsack. Annie wouldn't want him to mess up her pretty dress if he wasn't prepared.

"You want me to put my mouth on it?" she asked.

Her sweet voice saying something so filthy caused a hearty chuckle to burst out. If her father ever found out, Smoke would have a dozen bullets in his body like Swiss cheese. Fuck it. She was worth dying for.

"Only if you want to," he said.

"Will you promise to cum in my mouth?"

Jesus Christ!

"Yeah, I'll cum wherever you want me to."

Excited, Annie hunkered above his dick and her breasts hung down the way he thought they would. He almost passed out. She licked his dick like a lollipop and kissed the wide head. He would have to teach her what to do because she wasn't giving him the service he was used to—

Fuck!

Her lips slid down his pipe with the suction he needed to get off. His eyes rolled back for a second, and he lost all comprehension of what his part was in the matter.

"Annie! Goddamn, girl! Suck that dick…aw shit…dassit…fuck girl….!"

She gagged, trying to go past her reflex, but she relaxed into the sucking. Her saliva coated his dick, and he almost started crying as she bobbed her head in his lap. He wasn't expecting that much pleasure from her mouth.

"Suck it…suck that dick…get it all deep in your mouth…"

He praised her efforts and offered her more dick down her throat.

She took it.

Took it deep.

He grabbed a titty and squeezed, needing something to ground him as the surge of his climax rose into his dick. Smoke slammed a hand against the roof of the car and shouted Annie's name as semen spurt into her mouth.

She swallowed.

Everything.

Her succulent lips made a loud popping sound as she released his dick. She sat back and wiped her mouth.

"I always wanted to do that," she said.

"You ain't never sucked dick before?"

The incredulous look on his face caused a giggle to escape from her.

"My first time."

"You a virgin?"

Her eyes darted away from his face.

Goddamn that Beau Willie.

"Was Beau Willie your first?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'ma be your second and last, hear me?"

She beamed, and Smoke kissed her full on the mouth, wanting to taste himself on her tongue. He played with her tits again, stuffed as much in his mouth as he could get, and she stroked his hair.

Voices.

Nearby.

"Shit!" he grumbled.

Annie started fixing her bra and Smoke pulled up his pants.

Too late.

"Nigga, getcho ass out here! Bo is about to propose to Grace and wants us with him when he does it!" Stack shouted. "You in there stankin' up the car gettin' some nookie?"

Stack yanked open the passenger door on Smoke's side. Annie tried to fasten her last few buttons, but Stack caught an eyeful of what went on seconds before.

"Stack, I was gonna tell you about me and Annie," Smoke blurted.

Stack took several steps back in a daze.

Smoke climbed out and stuffed his shirt in his pants and fastened his trousers. He pulled his suspenders back up.

"Stack?" Smoke said.

"What the fuck are you doing with her, Smoke?" Stack said.

Smoke glimpsed Bo waiting for Stack near the barn.

Annie stepped out of the car and faced Stack.

"I like your brother, Stack. You and me were only going to be friends. Don't be mad at him."

Stack's eyes watered.

"Why it had to be my brother, Annie?"

Annie reached for him, and Stack pushed her hands away. Smoke stepped in front of her.

"I was going to tell you how I felt. Since you spoke to her first, I let you have a chance with her. But she wants to be with me. I'm sorry. I ain't mean for you to find out like this."

"What he got over me, Annie? I look exactly like this nigga! I know I'ma lot more fun. Why you ain't want me? Huh?"

"I can't explain why, Stack. Something about him makes me feel…I just…"

Annie's eyes welled up. Smoke reached for her hand and pulled her in close. She hid her face in his shoulder.

"This is fucked up!"

Stack stomped away, turned back, and looked at them.

"Fuck the both of you!"

Bo patted Stack on the back as he passed him to go back into the barn.

"The fuck, Smoke?" Bo yelled over to him.

"Go pop the question to your woman, Bo," Smoke shouted.

"I want you there, too. I need my two best friends to give me courage."

"Give me a minute!"

Bo nodded and went after Stack.

Annie trembled in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Annie. I'll talk to him later. He'll get over it."

He held her and rocked his body against hers.

"He'll find him another woman in no time."

"I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be. I'm not. Shit happens and then you gotta move on. I promise, baby. We'll laugh about this one day."

He used his fingers to wipe away her tears and then blotted away the rest with his handkerchief. Once she calmed down, he held her hand and walked her back to the barn.

There was a noticeable shift in the group when people caught on that Smoke had claimed Annie for himself. It sparked whispers and curious glances. Their community always viewed the twins as troublesome catches. They were attractive, but the risk of being Smoke's girl would change how others interacted with Annie. They would admire and fear her.

Moving through the barn, Smoke ushered Annie out through the other side to the bonfire. Bo stood next to a visibly shaken Stack. Grace, Donetha, and Caldonia sat on haystacks, laughing and smoking cigarettes, oblivious to Bo and Stack standing behind them.

Cornbread tapped Smoke on his shoulder with a finger up to his lips. One fiddler stood next to him.

"We're going to have Chauncey serenade for Bo while he proposes," Cornbread whispered.

Smoke nodded and moved aside with Annie, giving Chauncey room. Bo slinked over and pulled out a ring and showed it to him.

"I'm so nervous," Bo said.

"Do you love her?" Smoke asked.

"I do."

"Then you're ready."

Smoke nodded toward Grace.

"Go handle your business, man."

Bo took a deep breath and pointed to Chauncey. The fiddler dragged the bowstring down and the pleasing sound alerted Grace and the others sitting around the fire that something unexpected was happening.

Bo walked around Stack and stepped over an unoccupied haystack. He stood before Grace. The firelight illuminated the couple, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Smoke glanced at Annie, and the flickering flames danced in her eyes. She slipped her arm around his and tilted her head up. Her lips enticed him and he kissed her…openly. Let his tongue slip into her mouth. She squeezed his arm.

"Grace," Bo said with a shaky voice, "You are the most important—"

The punch to Smoke's face came out of nowhere. Annie screamed, and he tumbled back, holding his cheek. The pain stung like hell.

Stack held his fists up, his face contorted in rage.

"Hey now…this ain't right. Brothers ain't supposed to be fighting. What's going on?" Cornbread shouted, stepping between them. "Smoke? Stack?"

"Fuck it!" Stack yelled.

He waved a dismissive hand and walked off toward the darkness, away from the fire.

Smoke rubbed his face. The pain wasn't as sharp, but it still hurt.

"Sorry, Bo," Smoke said. "I'll be back, Annie."

Smoke strode in the direction his brother went.

"Stack! Stack! Hold up!"

Smoke jogged after him.

His brother stopped and held his hands on his hips with his back to him.

"Talk to me, Stack."

"You should've told me. The moment you knew you had feelings."

"I should've…but you went for her, and I stood aside."

Stack sighed.

"I could never figure out why she held back with me. She made me laugh…listened to me. Never judged me. I dunno…made me feel like I could be something."

"What are you talking about? You're already something. We're both going to be something more when we start our own shit. C'mon, now."

"Cut the crap, Smoke. You and I both know people see us as two ain't-shit sons of Cash Moore. The man they believe had the devil in him and passed that evil onto us."

"We not evil. Stop believing that shit."

"They call our momma a witch."

Stack sighed. Tried to talk.

"Annie…man, she…..aw forget it!"

He threw his hands up and pulled out his flask. Gulping down the contents, he handed it to Smoke.

"How's your face?" Stack asked.

"It's going to have a bruise in the morning. Momma is going to wonder what happened."

Smoke took a huge swallow and choked, almost dropping the flask.

"The fuck is in here?" Smoke gasped.

He coughed and Stack whacked him on the back a few times.

"Pure grade moonshine, whipped up by Cornbread's uncle Lodie."

In the distance, an old truck kicked up dust, charging toward the bonfire. It stopped just short of the haystacks, and a group of men hopped out.

Smoke and Stack hurried back to see what the commotion was about.

The moment they reached the others, Smoke sensed trouble. Cornbread looked nervous.

"What's going on, Cornbread?" Smoke asked.

"These boys are from Cedar Mound."

Cornbread wouldn't look at Smoke. His eyes stayed planted on the leader of the new arrivals.

"Friends of yours?" Stack asked.

"Nah."

A bulky young man with slicked back hair, beady eyes, and clothes that looked too new to be trusted, stepped forward.

"We're friends with Terry," slick hair said. "He said for us to come around for the birthday party and barbecue."

"Terry who?" Cornbread said.

"The nigga with the fucked up eye," another man with a muscular frame and bitter-looking face interjected.

His eyes dragged up and down Annie and Caldonia. Donetha, too.

Smoke placed himself in front of them.

"This here is a private function," Cornbread said. "I don't know ya, and nobody can invite people I don't know to my jump up. I'll kindly ask you fellas to leave and find someplace else to have fun."

"Nigga, we told you Terry said we could come here!"

The muscular one lunged forward like he wanted something to jump off.

Both Smoke and Stack had already reached down to their ankles and pulled out guns, aiming them in strangers' direction.

"Guess you niggas caint hear too good. The man said you ain't welcome," Smoke challenged.

"We can help clean those big ass ears out if ya want," Stack added.

Annie snickered, and the muscular stranger curled his lips into an angry snarl.

"Bitch, what are you laughing at?" he barked.

Smoke cocked his gun, but Annie reached into the deep pocket of her dress and whipped out a straight razor.

"Call me a bitch again and I'll slice your balls off," Annie spat right back.

Smoke and Stack glanced at her and quickly looked at each other.

"Maybe it's best you keep her, Smoke. Caint have my balls cut off if she gets mad at me," Stack joked.

Ghost Eye Terry ran out from the barn, waving his hands around.

"Aye, Cornbread! That's my buddy Randolph…I told you earlier that he might come through," Terry huffed out.

"You said one person. Terry. Not four," Cornbread said.

Randolph, with the slick hair, grinned widely.

"I'm sorry, that's my fault. I didn't want to come all this way alone. The klan been busy this summer as y'all know. Didn't want to take a chance and get caught on the road by myself. Brought me some back-up just in case," Randolph said.

Cornbread scratched his head and sighed.

"That is true," Cornbread said.

He glanced at Smoke and Stack.

"I guess it's okay to let them stay. I told Terry he could have a friend come since he helped drive people over."

Terry nodded enthusiastically, relief spreading across his face.

Smoke moved closer to the muscular man and kept his gun aimed directly at his head.

"Ain't nobody stayin' until this nigga apologizes to my woman," Smoke said.

Cornbread blinked twice and stared at Annie.

Randolph smacked the muscular man's shoulder to comply.

"Apologize to this beautiful lady, Wilson," Randolph said.

Wilson spread his greasy lips into a caricature of a smile and bowed his head at Annie.

"I am very sorry for calling you outchea name, Miss…?"

"Annie," she said.

"My apologies, Miss Annie. My mother taught me better than that," Wilson said.

Everyone waited for Smoke.

"Is that good enough for you, Annie?" Smoke asked.

Annie folded her straight razor and tucked it back in her pocket.

"It'll do," she said with her haughty dark eyes cutting into the new guests.

Smoke reared back his hand and pistol-whipped Wilson across the forehead.

"I said sorry, nigga!" Wilson wailed, pressing a hand onto the new bloody gash on his face.

"That'll teach ya not to run ya mouth next time," Smoke said.

"Come get something to drink. Might be some cake and food left," Terry said, rushing his people toward the barn.

Cornbread looked over at Annie.

"You sho' is full of surprises tonight," Cornbread said.

Annie smirked.

"I don't trust these niggas. Klan or no klan," Stack said to Smoke.

"I agree."

"I'll go check on 'em. Make sure they don't kill the party with their musty asses. Lawd almighty, that thick neck one smell like a dead skunk," Stack said, his face scrunching up at the odor left behind.

"We good?" Smoke asked.

Stack looked at Annie. Her big brown eyes and pretty lashes were hard to stay mad at. His brother's shoulders relaxed. He tucked his gun in the back of his pants for easy access.

"Yeah, we good."

Stack walked over to Annie. Looked her dead in the face. She reached out and ran the back of her hand across his cheek. Then kissed the side of his face.

"You'll always be my favorite twin," she said.

"I'ma be salty with you for a minute. Don't think we not gonna have a conversation about this between you and me at some point."

"I know," she said.

Stack turned and headed inside to keep his eyes on folks.

Smoke held out his hand. Annie clasped it.

"A straight razor was in your dress while we were fooling around?" he said.

She touched the hidden pocket that blended into her dress seamlessly.

"I gotta protect myself at all times."

"Not from me."

"Especially you," she teased.

"I think we're a good match, then."

He scanned the groups of people relaxing and chatting by the fire.

"What happened to Bo and Grace?"

"He tried to finish his lovely words to Grace, and she jumped up to go puke in the bushes over there. That moonshine Cornbread passed around is rough. Bo postponed the proposal until she feels a little better."

Sweet music and laughter drifted out from the barn. Smoke placed his gun back in his ankle holster.

"May I have another dance with you, Annie?"

"Yes you may, Elijah."

Smoke allowed a tiny sliver of a smile to show on his lips. Annie kissed her fingers and touched his lips with them.

"The best part of my night," she said, "Seeing you smile at me."

He kissed her on the temple and made plans to speak to her father first thing in the morning.

Part 4 soon come....

Taglist:

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@hotebonynearby

@m0netm0netxo12

@bigjh

@soufcakmistress

@czennieinsomnionce

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[eddies-ashtray]

YOUR HEART GOT TEETH!

Masterlist

Edit

Pairing: Kas/Vampire!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Your grief swallows you whole. And so will he. 18+ ONLY, minors do not interact.

WC: 7.0k

Content: Predator/prey (he basically hunts you in the forest), no use of y/n, kinda ooc Eddie cause he’s Kas/a vampire, discussions of grief/loss, somewhat detailed (but brief) description of eddie's scars (from the demo-bats), taunting/mocking, unprotected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, fingering, pussy pronouns, tiny bit of spit play, blowjob (kind of?).

A/N: I did a little research on Kas so some of his character is incorporated into this but I also took my own creative liberties. So this is not supposed to be a totally accurate depiction of Kas.

*gif source | *divider source 1 | *divider source 2

He must have been lurking in the murky shadows and fog clinging to the trees. Or maybe he was part of it—moving through the fog as the mist himself. Of course, you were initially ignorant to his presence, drowning in grief as you were. 

The dense wood of the forest effectively dampens sound from beyond, making it easy to pick up on any snapping twigs or skittering up in high branches. 

But he—it?—moved silently. Swiftly. Evading sight. 

Then there was this sense. Like a sixth one kicked into gear, raising goosebumps on dewy skin. An overwhelming presence which immediately triggered your fight or flight response. 

You should run. But you’d always been one to freeze. Vulnerable. Easy prey.

This time is no different. You don’t move a muscle, standing stock still in front of the large old tree stump. Staring down at the polaroid of that grinning face you miss so dearly, which lays among the trinkets and things left there by his little sheep and the band. All laid out nicely atop the stump, it’s many rings—some light, some dark—barely visible beneath the clutter. Though it will never spend another season growing additional rings.

With your heart slamming against your ribs and the blood rushing in your ears it takes you a second too long to regain control of your muscles. To flee this place–this crudely cobbled together memorial, unstained by public view & tampering. 

So when you turn to leave, there he is. 

You freeze. And you swear your heart stops pumping blood through your arteries. Terror taking over as your blood runs cold. 

Moonlight slashes across half his face, illuminating one sparkling brown eye and a slice of that slowly spreading grin. Sharpened canines slide over dark lips, pleased to find you here. 

Pinkish-red scars decorate his flesh, shredded skin healed unevenly, giving them this odd webbed effect. They begin at his jaw and crawl down his neck only to disappear beneath tattered clothing. His bat tattoo, your favourite, is present but marred by the deep scars where the demo-bats tore away at his flesh. The irony is not lost on you, but the sight is too grim to dwell on.  

When he leans in closer you can smell him. An odd mimicry of Eddie. Different from before when his heart pumped blood through his veins. Something in your body naturally resistant to it, but simultaneously lured to him—an unadulterated pull. With every erratic inhale you crave more, like a smoker greedily sucking nicotine into their lungs.

You loathe to admit its intoxicating effect. Because this—this thing—can’t be Eddie. Not your Eddie. But some spectral version, warped by the mirror world. 

It’s only when he speaks that you have any sort of visible reaction to him at all. Like he could’ve been some figment of your interminable grief—unbelieving in him until his acknowledgment of you.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Stupidly, you gasp in surprise, stumbling backward, hand reaching out behind you for something to tether you to this earth because surely you must have gone mad.

The rough and textured feel of bark scrapes against the sensitive skin of your palm. Though it does little to ground you. 

He moves swiftly toward you again, this bona fide creature keeping close, commanding the fog to shift around you. Invading your senses. That grin is ever-growing and increasingly self-satisfied.

You’re breathing hard, eyebrows scrunched together—confused, intrigued. 

Though his scent is somehow subtly altered, his voice remains much the same, but with richer notes of darkness. An almost imperceptible difference. His tone differs too. It’s mocking, yes—not in the same playful way Eddie used to be—but it’s also curious, unfamiliar. 

It presses the heavy implication over your heart that he doesn’t recognize you. How could that be?

The way he examines you reveals his unfamiliarity, though his eyes remain unchanged—the same shade of dark chocolate. And it is this which elicits an aching longing. One that burrows deep in your heart.

Though he looks like him. Sounds like him. And almost smells like him. It isn’t him. You know this to your marrow, like you know that the sun will rise tomorrow. It’s his body, yes. But not his mind. At least, not all of it. Clearly, it does not carry his memories. 

When he reaches up, cold fingertips ghosting past your chest, your collarbones, your neck, you have to suppress a shiver. But the renewed goosebumps rising on your skin betray you. 

His lips curl into a smirk, this one self-satisfied and hungry as the knuckle of his index finger grazes the sensitive flesh of your cheek. Try as you might not to, you flinch. He pouts at you mockingly, his touch unyielding.

“I could devour you, sweetheart,” he whispers, like the thought has only just come to him as his flesh met yours. Like it excites him to no end and sends the fresh scars pressed into his flesh thrumming. 

“You won’t,” you say shakily, not because you know this, but because you’re hoping. 

But your heart is beating out of your chest like a bunny that’s been caught between the sharp teeth of a fox, who knows it’s only a matter of time before its heart stops pounding and its blood ceases to pulse through its veins. 

You wonder if he can hear it with the way his face twitches and he appears to stop and listen, savouring some near silent thumping. This has you suppressing another shiver. 

Do you want him to devour you? 

No. 

You want him to try.

“I won't?” he retorts with a tilt of his head, his voice suddenly taking on a sharper quality. A dangerous edge to it like he’s responding to a challenge—provoked by the suggestion that he could be merciful. 

He could tear you to shreds right here and now and you’d let him–couldn’t stop him. He wants to. You can see it in his eager gaze. While this incites deep seated fear, it’s also a thrill. Something which awakens you after the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. Spending your days sleepwalking, rather than living. You realize it’s the first time you’ve felt alive since he took his final breath in your arms. 

He must see it in your face—as perceptive as he was in life.

“Watch me,” he spits. Watch me tear you apart. 

You swallow, throat dry. 

He leans in and you almost bear your neck to him, seemingly ready for him to take you from this earthly plane. 

Suddenly, his gaze snaps sharply down to his left. Your heart lurches in your chest, stomach flipping as your eyes flit over his shoulder to the left. Then to the right. Has he heard something? Possibly, a presence that could put an end to this? Oddly, the thought does little to relieve you. Instead, panic surges—a need to keep him here with you, if only it will result in your end–burning bright in your body. 

The treeline remains empty and dark, save for the still hovering fog choking the trees. 

If you were going to escape, this moment offers an opportune window. But that panic of losing his presence keeps you as rooted against his chest as these very trees are to the ground. 

Of course, you don’t hear it. The disembodied voice only falls on his sharp ears when it hisses, “She serves a grander purpose.” 

His sword, sheathed in its scabbard, speaks. He is ever bound to its command, whatever it calls for.

Your eyes return to his—finding with a shock that his gaze has already fallen upon you again—when he speaks. 

“A greater purpose than a meal?” 

His gaze rests upon you, but the question is evidently not for you—who it is for, you may never know. 

Whatever one-sided conversation he was having must yield unfavourable results because his jaw ticks and nostrils flare. Frustration, maybe even anger, bubbles behind dark eyes. 

He must obey. 

But he’ll still have his fun. 

Eddie decides right then and there that if he cannot satisfy his blood lust for you—if he cannot indulge in his thirst—then he will instead seek to satiate an alternatively carnal form of hunger. 

Drinking your blood is not the only method of sowing terror. There are other means. He can get creative.

He leans in then, teeth bared, and you catch his canines growing sharper, protruding further from his gums when he whispers, “I'll give you a head start…run.” 

When he says it it’s like the forest goes silent. Like all those tiny, near undetectable noises cease when he speaks. It’s eerie the way you don’t notice them until they’ve quieted. 

At that moment, you tear through the woods, blowing past his memorial. Leaves crunch and twigs snap underfoot. You’re the opposite of stealth. Something this Eddie seems to be well-versed in. You’re clumsy in your terror, easy prey.

Having spouted falsities, he gives you no head start, immediately tracking you effortlessly through the fog. 

You ignore the stitch quickly cutting into your side and keep running. But your sense of direction fails you quickly, everything beginning to look the same–all looming trees, dappled moonlight, and menacing shadows. All you can do is keep moving forward.

Then there’s movement to your left. 

Is your mind playing tricks on you? Morphing the shadows of great oaks in your periphery to resemble the creature that’s hunting you? Or is he right there, just waiting for the ideal moment to strike? Letting the fear build in your gut before he pounces. 

You just need to keep moving. 

One moment it sounds like he’s hot on your tail, but when you chance a look, he isn’t there. 

There’s the quick scratching against bark like an animal hurriedly climbing a tree, traversing it as effortlessly as a duck floats on water. 

But you can’t look again, unwilling to tear your eyes away from the winding paths to see him scaling trees. Just the idea raises the hair on your arms. 

The road. Only a sliver of it, gently illuminated by a dull street lamp, is visible through the dense wood. But it’s there. Just a hundred feet or so ahead–freedom and safety coming into view. 

Despite your terror though, your all-out sprint fades into a jog. Hesitating in the densest part of the forest. 

You lost Eddie once. This would be like losing him all over again, wouldn’t it?

You crave just one more glimpse of him because running from him after weeks of yearning to hold him in your arms again feels wrong. But you know your grief is clouding your judgement, and a voice of reason pops up, telling you to run, go!

When you realize what he’s done–lead you into the densest part of the woods on purpose–it’s too late. 

Your moment’s hesitance costs you.  

He led you here so you could hardly revel in the warm embrace of safety before coldly tearing it from your grasp.

Nearly nose-to-nose, Eddie seemingly materializes from the mist in front of you. “Boo!” 

“Shit!” You jump, falling hard onto the dirt floor of the forest. You groan–heart hammering and tailbone aching, just laying there, willing your heart to calm. 

Then he’s gone. There, in terror-induced vibrant clarity. And then a vanishment so swift you can’t be sure he was ever really there to begin with. 

Laughing darkly from somewhere above–a sinisterly, amused sound–you venture a hesitant look upward, into the dense branches above. 

Eddie is in the tree. There, he crouches on a thick branch as he observes you with the tilt of his head. His curious smile seemingly glowing in the darkness with the top half of his face shrouded in shadow. 

And then once again, he manifests by your head. 

He’s more menacing like this. Always was taller than you. But from this vantage point he’s a leering predator appraising injured prey. An easy meal. He could make quick work of you. 

“That stupid, huh?” he laughs as if the prospect is the most amusing thing in the world. “Thought you’d get away easy?” 

He continues to taunt you as he stalks around you, now standing at your waist.

You try to raise up onto your elbows, but to no avail as searing pain shoots up your spine. 

“Hm?”

It should be the last thing to spring to mind right now. But his tone strikingly resembles the condescending one Eddie would use in bed. When he’d ask: That feel good? Hm? And he knew it did.

It forces you to look at him—like Pavlov’s dog drooling at the sound of the bell. A conditioned response.

Eddie’s practically glowing in the soft moonlight. 

He’s so…alive. 

It chokes you up a bit. A lump forming in your throat as unshed tears sting your eyes. You tear your gaze from him, guilt sinking into your belly like an anchor in the ocean. 

“Look at me,” he demands immediately, voice proud and controlled. Despite the guilt, you cannot reject your body’s reaction to him. It’s that tone. It sends shivers up your spine and warmth into your gut—a pleasant ache for something raw and intense. 

You obey. 

Maybe it’s the grief. The sudden loss of someone so dear. But as you lay here—bruised and tired, and gazing up at him—you don’t mind that he has no memory of you. He’s still right here, standing in front of you, isn’t he? You think you’re still trying to convince yourself. 

You are a tangled, contradiction of feeling. Fear continues to nip at your neck while intrigue licks at your spine as you observe this freakishly orphic creature observing you. He’s…enchanting, captivating.

Eddie sighs deeply, gazing up briefly at the moon peeking through the leaves. It hangs bright above you, branches extended toward it, as though worshipping it. 

The sound he makes is like savouring relief. Upon feeling the open air on his skin, thankful for the reprieve from the shadows that the moonlight brings. Though you can’t know this—that he is confined to the darkness for all eternity.

You’re finally able to push yourself up on your elbows–not without wincing–when he returns his gaze to you. Your breathing slows and deepens as another pleasant and warm feeling twists in your belly. 

“What am I going to do with you?” he ponders sardonically, excitedly. 

You find the answer comes out of your mouth without thought. Another involuntary response from your body. 

“Anything.” It sounds so needy. Feathery, as your response floats off into the trees. 

Were you crazy or desperate? Or maybe just so haunted by his ghost that what he is–what he’s turned into–is irrelevant? Whether he be an apparition of your own imagining or a real monster twisted by the mirror world. Maybe he doesn’t have Eddie’s soul. But he has his face. His body. Is it so wrong to want him?

When he leans over you, you whimper, “Please.” 

He pouts at you in faux sympathy.

Is the mercy you seek defined by his departure? Or does your version of “mercy” mean letting him devour you like he’d promised?

When he flashes those pointed canines and a mischievous dimple carves into his cheek you have your answer. You no longer need to question or analyze your thoughts. You just want to feel. 

As Eddie leans in and strokes your cheek with the back of his index finger, you press gently into his touch. Feeling warm all over, buzzing with electricity. 

Strangely, you feel safe under his scrutinizing gaze. A crease forms between your brows as he leans in even closer. Your parted lips brush his tenderly. You might catch fire. 

Just as your eyes fall shut in anticipation of his kiss—your first with him in weeks—you hear his humorous scoff. Your face heats as your eyes open to find him leaning back. 

“Pathetic,” Eddie whispers. 

“I-” you’re not sure what you’re going to say in your defence, but he cuts you off anyway, with a curt: 

“Lie down.”

His hand is a firm pressure against the center of your chest, pushing you toward the ground after stooping down next to you. Your back presses into the cool dirt floor of the forest. 

Will he devour you now? Take you without another word? 

No. He isn’t done teasing you yet–another similarity between the human Eddie and the creature Eddie. Always itching to get you writhing and whining beneath him. Never satisfied until he could make you beg for it.

The hand that pushed you to the ground remains on your body, cold as it drags slowly down in quiet curiosity. As if feeling you for the first time, just getting used to the way your body curves and trembles beneath his touch.

Calloused fingertips just barely brush your tits on his way down, raising goosebumps beneath your top. When you gasp and arch into his hand imperceptibly, he pauses just as the rough skin of his palm ghosts over a sliver of your exposed belly, above your navel. 

His eyes flit to your chest, only remaining there for a single inhale before returning to his hand which continues to skate painstakingly down your body. Studying you.

The path of his hand ends at the edge of your skirt, caressing the skin there with a tender touch. You have to bite the inside of your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. Not wanting to seem too desperate. Although you’ve probably already failed at that.

“Eddie,” you sigh, head lolling over to look up at him. He meets your gaze, hand curving over your hip. 

Humming thoughtfully, Eddie tilts his head at you. Like you’re the one who’s become a creature. Morphing into a small thing, bursting with need and a deep desire to be taken care of. 

All the while, his hand continues its path down until he meets the skin of your thigh where he squeezes the doughy flesh roughly. Like he can feel the thrumming of your veins beneath your skin, yearning to take a bite out of you. 

“Oh, God.” Your skin tingles delightfully. A soft moan, as quiet as the sound of skin brushing against skin escapes your throat. 

The barest hint of a satisfied smile cracks his features. 

You may be so haunted by him that you’ll entertain this potential dream or nightmare, or whatever this is. But you are also undeniably desperate. To feel his touch on your skin again is transcendent. Like the very first time he touched you, it feels as though every single one of your nerves is exposed. Readily available for him to toy with. 

Excitement courses through your veins, a drug only able to be injected by his hand, as it curves over your leg. Hand pressing into the flesh of your inner thigh, he squeezes again, his blunt nails scratching sensitive skin. He pushes them open, giving him the easiest access to slide his hand up your skirt. 

When he finally tugs your panties down, and finds the soaked mess between your thighs, he releases a breathy, “Oh.”

Stroking his fingers through the mess, he says, “Look at this…”

Your hips flex when he dips gently into your dripping hole, collecting the sticky stuff before pulling his hand from you to put your desire on display. 

When his now sodden fingers come into view, and he pulls them apart to show you just how wet you are, you whine high in your throat. Embarrassed that you’re this worked up when he’s hardly done anything to elicit your lust. 

Thin lines connect his fingers, your essence seemingly sparkling in the moonlight as gentle waves of humiliation crash over you. Watching on as he savours the taste of you on his fingers, you huff impatiently. 

The moment his hand returns to your heat, his fingers swipe through your wetness again, dragging it to your sensitive clit where he rubs his middle finger in a dizzying circular motion, the slide smooth. Upon the second circuit of his fingers, you’re gushing around him, getting wetter by the second. A fire blazes in your belly and your hips twitch, finding it difficult to remain still when he’s working you up so. 

“Fuck, look at you. Could probably make you cum from just this,” he laughs, applying more pressure as he continues his torturous circles over that magic little button. 

The lewd sounds from your pussy fill the still night air as the lustful haze in his eyes grows more determined–his teeth sinking into his bottom lip in concentration. 

It’s all too much and on pure instinct your own hand wraps around the wrist of the hand up your skirt. That you’re still fully clothed—sans underwear—makes this feel all the more dirty. Let alone that you’re in the woods on the filthy ground, the exposed sliver of your back likely coated in a thin layer of dirt. 

Though your grip is loose on his wrist, he doesn’t let you get away with it. Grabbing both of your wrists in his free hand, he pins them above your head. 

“Stay,” he orders. 

You watch helplessly as he presses his two middle fingers into your pussy, curving them on the first stroke. If this were months ago, and Eddie had you like this in his bed, you might think the squeeze he gives your wrists—bound by his own hand–was an act of reassurance. Now, you know it is solely an act of dominance. I have you at my mercy. 

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Eddie…”

You forgot how nicely his fingers filled you. How you feel like a bright, burning star when he touches you like this. Deep and slow, like he’s forcing you to savour each stroke. How the tips of his fingers, longer than yours, caress parts of you that you couldn’t fathom. How he works in earnest to pull noises from you that you didn’t even know you could make. 

The pace he sets is simultaneously torturous and delicious, his aim clearly being to tease and overwhelm. Tears burn behind your eyes as his thumb rolls over your clit and you whine, that familiar feeling slowly beginning to build in your belly. Like you’re on the incline of a rollercoaster. 

“That feel good? Hm?” he asks with a syrupy tone as he watches you fuck yourself on his fingers like you’re in heat. With your hands pinned, it’s all you can do to writhe in his grasp.

“I-yes!” 

You’ve never seen him more smug and satisfied. 

“Yeah?” you nod furiously, mouth occupied by wanton moans. “I know, I know, baby…Know you’re dying to take my cock.” 

A delicious heat twists in your belly. “Please!” 

Before you reach the peak of your rollercoaster, he pulls his fingers from you, releasing your wrists simultaneously–though they remain above your head. You whine in protest, feeling suddenly cold and empty without a part of him inside of you. Though this feeling does not last for long as he moves quickly. 

Eagerly, Eddie swiftly removes his scabbard and undoes his jeans and fly, shoving them down just enough to free his cock. It bobs, hard and leaking so much pretty precum your mouth waters for it. Beautiful as ever. 

The sigh he releases when he strokes his dick is euphoric as he smears your wetness from base to tip. Already soaked with you. You shift your hips, fidgeting in place, impatient. Wishing it was your warm mouth encircling his girth instead of his own hand. 

Just as quickly as he’d tugged his jeans down, he’s on top of you again, slotting himself between your thighs before flipping your skirt up. Getting his first proper look at you. 

“Fuck, look at the mess you’ve made, sweetheart. All for me?” He says it like he’s mesmerized by the sight, eating up the way your body unabashedly calls for him. 

Grasping himself at the base, he lines himself up, your breathing growing shallow and quick. Anticipating the feeling of him inside you, desperate to feel every ridge and vein. The warmth as he fills you. 

You hold your breath. 

Meanly, he paints the flushed red tip up and down your soaked folds, causing you to whine and writhe against him. When it glances your clit you gasp and your hips jump as white hot pleasure zips up your spine. 

Your eyes are on high branches now, but you hear his low, satisfied chuckle. He wants for you to experience a unique kind of anguish before he rewards you for your perseverance. 

You’re about to lose it completely when he smacks the head of his cock heavily against your clit. The sticky sound it elicits is vulgar. It forces your eyes to roll into the back of your skull and groan. 

He is not merciful. But, eventually, he puts you out of your misery. A sharp inhale marks the moment he finally slides the first inch of his cock inside of you. 

Bracing for the inevitable fullness and slight sting that comes along with it proves unnecessary as he does not nudge himself any further. It only takes you a moment to realize he’s still teasing and you release another low whine. Just his weeping tip penetrates your fluttering hole, making your head spin.

He is going to make you earn it. 

“Jesus, it’s like she’s suckin’ me in,” he mutters under his breath in disbelief. “Beg for it, sweetheart.” 

You don’t waste any time. Not a single second before you begin to plead with him, cutting him off before he gets the pet name out. 

“Fuck me, Eddie! Need it so bad. So, so bad,” you mewl pathetically. “Please, please, please, please-” you might be embarrassed if you weren’t an absolute wreck, distraught on account of his teasing. Right on the edge of intense pleasure, feeling like you can’t take it anymore and might-

His cock sinks into you fully, not slowly but roughly. His heavy balls slap against your ass as he tugs your legs up to sheath himself even deeper inside of you. 

Twin groans float into the air, his eyes locked on yours. His become impossibly dark, like the slow spill of black ink across a page. Pleasure explodes in your belly as stars seemingly explode in the night sky. You are a live wire casting sparks in every direction. 

He is all that matters right now. The world could be ending around you, and you would be ignorant to it, lost in the feeling of his cock sliding home inside of you. 

His large palms pin your thighs back, as close to your chest as they can stretch while he stretches you out on his cock. And, fuck, is it a stretch after all these weeks. 

Your pleasure errs on the side of pain, but you savour it nonetheless and let him devour you. The sensations commingle and soon, you cannot tell the difference between the two. The pleasure is pain and the pain is pleasure. 

On a particularly rough thrust, as his balls collide with your ass with a sharp smack, you cry out, moaning his name freely into the open air. The sound gets trapped in the thick trees, as do his groans. 

For the first time since he pinned your hands to the ground, you wrap them around his neck, exploring his back, heavily textured by scars. Feeling the way his muscles flex beneath your hands as he continues to pound into you. Slowly, they find their way up into his hair, feeling his waves between your fingers. Somehow soft and knotted at the same time. 

But he doesn’t let your hands roam free for too long before pinning them back above your head again, one palm still pressing firmly into the back of your right thigh. When you try to wrap your legs around his waist, he simply presses them back toward your chest, his throbbing cock reaching deeper inside of you as the obscene squelching sounds amplify. 

Your own sounds rival the distant symphony of insects–somewhere far off in the meadow, the chirping crickets and singing cicadas are drowned out by your moans. The tiny creatures may as well be silent with how loud your wails have become. But how could you be quiet when you can feel him in your belly?

“Take it,” he growls, as if you are not laying here fucking yourself back onto his throbbing dick. Meeting his deep thrusts with your own, feeling his tip kiss your cervix and whining. “Tell me how good my cock feels inside of you.”

All you can do is whine and gaze up at him, barely registering his words as your heart unexpectedly swells at the sight of his gorgeous, pleasure-stricken features. 

Every minute detail is identical to your Eddie. Every freckle–including the tiny one just below his eye. His cheeky dimples. The sparse trail of hair below his navel that you used to trail your tongue down, causing his hips to jump in response.

Predictably, you get lost in his beauty and the overwhelming sensations, barely recognizing when his hand abandons the task of binding your wrists. Abruptly, you are snapped back to the moment when that same hand lands a sharp slap to your clit. It only causes you to squeal, your pussy fluttering around his dick as the sting quickly merges into pleasure. You get more lost in the haze of dizzying pleasure-pain.

Realizing that he only succeeded in further blurring your thoughts, Eddie grasps your face in one large hand. He squishes your cheeks until your lips pucker, smearing your wetness across your face. “Tell me.”

Dizzying pleasure continues to cloud your mind, making it difficult to recall what he’s asking of you, let alone produce a response. 

You must take too long to answer as he squishes harder, your teeth pressing harshly against the inside of your cheeks. The feeling borders on pain, causing you to whimper again as heat sinks into your belly. 

With a jolt, you remember what his question was.“Tell. Me.”

He needs to know. 

“It’s g-” you choke when he thrusts deep, kissing that sweet spot deep inside. 

With the hand still gripping your cheeks, he shakes your head a little, like he’s trying to shake the thought free. “Huh?”

“Good!” you squeal. “L-love your cock!”

“You ‘L-love’ it?” Eddie laughs dryly, clearly enjoying the praise and the way you struggle to give it to him. 

That sweet humiliation warms your chest, feeling almost as good as the way he presses inside of you. Hot and heavy. 

You agree with a moan, lacking the wherewithal to respond coherently. When he removes his hand from your face, it travels to grope your tits greedily over your thin top. Arching into his touch, you close your eyes and revel in the sweet sensation. 

His groans and the filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fill your ears as he repeatedly strokes that wonderful spot inside of you. Pleasure bursts in vivid colour behind your eyelids.

When his hand travels further down your body, middle and marriage fingers pressing into that tender bundle of nerves at the top of your cunt, your pleasure surges to new heights. The coil which has been tightening slowly while he fucks you threatens to snap. 

Pace slowing in favour of deep, calculated thrusts, Eddie leans down to your ear. “Gonna make such a mess of you,” he whispers, sending shivers straight down your spine. The promise is like molten lava on your skin. 

More reckless moans spill from your lips as he nips at your earlobe, then drags his teeth slowly down your neck. A reminder that he could easily sink his teeth into your flesh. It sends a thrill through your body–not unlike the one that licked at your spine as he hunted you through the woods. 

“Promise?” you ask breathlessly. A fucked-out smile on your face. 

He stares hungrily, longingly, at your neck for just a moment before returning to your eyes after registering your words. A challenge that quirks his brow. 

Bracing himself with an elbow dug in the dirt, his pace quickens again as he works furiously at your clit. His rhythm is clumsy, but successful at continuing to send shockwaves of twisted pleasure through your body. His hips slam so hard against you that it would be unsurprising to find light green bruises pressed into your ass tomorrow morning. 

You gasp, tossing your head back on a particularly deep and perfectly angled thrust. He dangles you over the cliff’s edge, keeping you on the precipice of release. It’s all you can do to tighten your hands into fists as you twist your them in his unrelenting grasp. 

He doesn’t even have to ask you to beg this time. The pleas for release simply tumble out of your mouth with little thought. “Please! Gonna cum, Eddie! Please, please can I cum?”

Hot, overwhelmed tears threaten to spill over in anticipation of his permission. You doubt you’ll be able to hold on much longer with that perfect pressure on your clit and incredible fullness. His heavy panting indicates he isn’t far behind you. 

“Cum all over my cock…Let me ruin you for anyone else.” He’s breathless as he says it. 

It’s his words that inevitably shove you over the edge, pleasure swelling inside of you. Your clit numbs and you cry out, cunt clenching around him as you drench his cock. It is not a soft, gentle climax that graces your body, but an intense thing that seems to carry on forever. 

“I love you,” you whisper into the cool night air, your body still twitching with your orgasm as tears slip down your cheeks. The phrase so easily blurts from you and it’s then that he groans and begins to spill inside of you too. Face pressed into your neck as he shoots hot spurts of cum into your cunt. Rope after rope of the stuff, warming your belly fulfillingly. 

His thrusts slow and eventually stop as he collapses on top of you. 

Aftershocks flow through you in raw, euphoric waves as you pant into his curls. A sated smile tugs at your mouth and you tremble against him, boneless when he’s done with you. A blissful giggle escapes your throat. 

The both of you lay there for moments, just listening to each other’s heartbeats slow as the insect’s song replaces your moans. The moon gleams in the sky, spinning stars winking at you.

All too soon Eddie pulls away from your neck and observes the damage. You’re sure he finds he succeeded in making a mess of you. Your wetness still smeared across your cheek, hair completely mussed, and your bottom half covered in dirt as you draw in heaving breaths, still coming down from your mind-numbing orgasm.

There’s a small smirk that reaches his eyes more than his mouth before he tugs his hand from between your bodies. Lewdly, he shoves his two middle fingers between your lips. “Hmph!” 

Once the surprise wears off and you cup his hand in both of yours, you allow your eyes to drift shut. The mild taste of your own cum pervades your mouth as he presses his fingers deeper. Your tongue swirls around them, sucking softly. He continues to test the waters, pressing in further until the pads of his fingers grace the back of your tongue, causing you to gag lightly around them. When he pulls them out, they’re wetter than before. He smears the spit over your cheeks, just as he had done with your wetness. An act of dominance which leaves you breathless and twists your stomach into knots.

As you open your eyes, you watch him push himself away from you, sitting back on his haunches. 

“Clean up your mess.” The meaning of his statement only briefly eludes you. 

With wobbly limbs you stumble a step or two on your knees closer to him, intoxicated by your co-mingling scents before his palm finds the crown of your head and he presses you down against him. 

You gaze lovingly up at him and you’re sure the sight from above is simply obscene. 

It’s been too long since you’ve done this which makes it all the more satisfying when your lips wrap around his slowly softening cock. The gentle weight of him in your mouth, the best feeling in the world. Warm and heavy on your tongue as the salty taste of his cum graces your tastebuds and the musky scent of him reaches your nose. 

He inhales sharply on the first suck, then groans as he pushes your head down more. The scent of him here–with your nose nearly nestled against the dark curls above his dick–is dizzying. You try not to gag around him this time before he lets up a bit and allows you to move more freely, greedily licking up your combined juices as his warm cum slowly drips down your thighs. 

Eddie allows you to slurp happily up and down his cock for a few more moments before he decides you’ve cleaned him up sufficiently. When he pulls you off, wetness drips down your chin. He thumbs at the spit there and you watch as he licks it off his own thumb, like he’s savouring chocolate ice cream that dripped off the cone. 

Then, he pets the top of your head gently in appreciation. “Good girl.” 

Your heart simply glows in your ribcage. This blooming feeling is quickly stamped out and replaced with rising panic when he goes to leave. Your heart reaches out for him and comes up empty, as it had when the life had drained from his eyes. It is not the panic from before which left you frightful at the prospect of being caught between claws and sharp teeth. But a panic which urges you to capture him, to keep him in your grasp, even if just for a little while longer. 

When you catch his wrist, he spins around and bares his teeth like an abused animal anticipating harm and hurt–one who has never experienced a soft touch. What’s happened to him? What has he gone through these past few weeks while you’ve been grieving him, unable to eat or sleep or think at all? 

Now that you’ve had him, back again in your arms with a beating heart and warm skin, you couldn’t bear to part with him again. 

This panic, the terror of being clouded with grief again, is what drives you to stutter out, “W-will I see you again?”

Guarded features soften a touch as he stares into your face, trying to determine your motivations. To decipher that hopeful look in your eyes. 

When he leans down to caress your chin softly, you know he’s come to a conclusion. You look imploringly from his left to his right eye, awaiting his response as your heart hammers in your chest. 

"On the next night that the fog creeps over the hills...maybe I'll sneak into your bedroom...and devour you."

You sigh as he gently licks your top lip, close enough now that you could kiss him easily. 

Gently, he grabs your face, his thumb resting on one cheek and his other four fingers on the other. Just before he kisses you you ask him softly, lips brushing, “Promise?”

It’s then he presses his lips to yours, and it’s almost tender before he drags his teeth over your bottom one. A final kiss is pressed to your mouth, soothing the gentle sting that you savour. 

For the briefest of moments you linger in the feeling after he’s pulled away. 

And when you open your eyes, he’s disappeared into the fog. Evaporated into the mist. And it’s like he whispers back to you, Promise.

⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

You wait for him.

All the while, thinking only of him and nothing else. It’s like your grief has intensified—worse the second time around—and after a while you begin to wonder whether you imagined the whole thing. It isn’t much of a stretch to say so. 

After he died, you often took to lying in bed for all hours of the day, staring out the window and watching the shadows grow long before drifting off into a fitful slumber. Tortured by your grief, even in sleep. 

Could it have all been a dream? 

As the days and weeks stretch on and you begin to question your grasp on reality—you return to this schedule. Lying in bed. Watching the world move as you remain still. Nightmares. Repeat. 

You always dreamt of him. Nothing else. Watching the light drain from his eyes. The blood pool around his body. 

He rots until he becomes pearly white bones. And the skeleton comes to life, badgers you with questions. He would ask you, Why didn’t you save me? Why aren’t you dead instead? This is all your fault! I’ll never forgive you!

Your encounter in the woods must have never occurred. It was just another fucked up way for you to torture yourself over his death.

Some nights you never slept, trying to keep the nightmares at bay. And, despite yourself, watched desperately for the fog to roll in. 

It’s weeks before the fog returns to Hawkins.

When it does, and you hear the slow and steady creak of your window being opened as you lie in bed, you know it was all real. 

And Eddie kept his promise. 

Thank you so much for reading!! Please reblog and let me know what you thought!

[multific]

The Music Box

Jason Voorhees x Reader

Summary: You weren't meant to find it. It was something long gone, a memory.

It was half-buried under wet leaves, tucked beneath a tree stump like someone had hidden it long ago, and the forest had forgotten.

You found it while collecting firewood with your daughter strapped to your back in her little sling.

She was teething and irritable, but as soon as you picked up the box, she quieted, her eyes fixated on the faded pink lid.

The hinges were rusted, and the tiny ballerina snapped off at the ankle.

But it still played, just barely, stuttered notes wheezing out of the tiny mechanism as you turned the crank.

Your daughter giggled. She reached for it with both chubby hands.

You brought it home. You set it on the mantle.

And Jason froze.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t lunge.

But his body locked like stone when he saw it.

You noticed. Of course you did.

He stared at the box like it was something dead. Like it might open its jaws and bite.

Later that night, after your daughter had finally been rocked to sleep, you sat on the porch and waited.

Jason never said much, but he didn’t have to. You knew his silences.

You could read them like a language now.

He came outside eventually. Sat beside you. The woods whispered around you both.

“Jason,” you murmured, voice low and careful. “Do you know that music box?”

A pause. Then, a slow, stiff nod.

You waited again.

Then he got up and went back inside.

You thought maybe he wasn’t ready. But when he returned, he was holding something in his hands.

A photograph.

Faded, stained at the edges. But still clear.

A woman in an apron, smiling slightly. Her hair was curled. Her eyes were soft.

“She was beautiful,” you whispered. Jason didn’t move.

He knelt in front of you and offered it like a confession.

His shoulders shook once, barely noticeable. You reached out and cupped his face in both hands.

Scarred. Broken. Beloved.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. “For whatever hurts when you hear that music.”

He stayed there, kneeling like a man praying, while you guided him to your lap. Not like a child, but like someone surrendering, quietly, finally, to safety.

You held him while he shook.

While your daughter snored in the next room. At the same time, the wind creaked through the trees.

He didn’t make a sound. But you felt the storm pass through him. And then… ease.

Later that night, you found him fixing the ballerina’s foot with an old screw and a bit of glue. When it turned again, it spun just enough to make your baby laugh.

Jason stared at her for a long time, then looked at you.

The past didn’t vanish. But somehow, in that quiet little cabin, love had made room for it.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[daddyslittlecrow]

I saw your post asking for writing ideas and was all 👀 with the new trailer coming out for Caleb being a cyborg- what if it was about Caleb x MC in the forest feeling touch/intimacy for the first time and practically getting drunk on it 👀 then possessive sex out in the wilderness

The Target (Caleb x MC)

THANK YOU FOR BEING MY FIRST SUGGESTION 💖💖 UNFORTUNATELY IT SEEMS IM INCAPABLE OF DOING A SIMPLE DRABBLE OF SMUT (accidentally made this 2.9k words 🤭)

Not proof-read its like 2am rn

Warnings: MDNI. Literal sex below. All bells, some whistles…

Twigs snapped under the weight of his steady approach, the sound heightened by the silence of the forest. Despite sunlight filtering through the trees, no bird dared to chirp.

Tears stung your eyes. You made one final attempt to somehow push yourself through the rough bark of the tree at your back. Your stomach twisted with heavy dread. His dominating frame loomed over you. It blocked the warm rays on your face, closing in. It was too late.

“Target acquired.” 

Your throat constricted as you choked on a sob. This wasn't how you planned this to end. Not by the hands of a man who had been by your side since forever. Who always tried to be there every night, stroking your sweat-drenched skin as you heaved from your night terrors. 

Caleb, the man who kissed you after you sobbed for hours, wondering how anyone could love an “experiment”. The programme you both were under had stripped you both of everything. Yet somehow, Caleb always remained strong for you.  

He had confessed his feelings to you that night. It was the only tender moment you had shared. 

When he went to the lab the next morning for a routine check-up, they had implanted the chip and he was gone. Replaced by this cold-hearted monster. His amethyst eyes glared at you like you were vermin. Ready to be executed.

He stood, still as a statue, smothering you with his presence. You were both clad in your uniforms. It was meant to be a simple mission, one you hoped would give you the opportunity to talk some sense into him. Remind him of what he promised you once you both finally escaped.

You were stupid enough to believe the lies the higher-ups fed you, too distracted by your heart to double-check the facts. By the time you realised your mistake, he had trapped you.

“Caleb.” Your voice was pleading. Maybe now would be the last chance you’d have of reaching him. Something flickered in his eyes, fingers twitching. Then it was gone.

Caleb’s hand shot out, clamping around your neck. His voice was cold, devoid of all emotion. You could tell he was listening to whatever they were ordering on his radio. A curt nod and his grip on you tightened. “Activating elimination protocol…”

You closed your eyes, accepting your fate. Tears spilt, rolling down your face. If these were your last words, you hoped they’d find the version of him they stole from you.

“I love you.” You gasped, the power of your voice restricted by his hand. Instantly, the pressure on your throat vanished.

Your eyes snapped open, watching as Caleb took a step back. Confusion etched on his face. He looked at you, utterly lost. “Y/N…”

You recognised the softness and your heart raced. Did you finally break through to him? Was he listening? His brows scrunched together in pain. It looked like he was fighting against his chip.

But then he growled. “No. Stop.” His head shook as though he was trying to dislodge whatever was overriding him. 

Wasting no time, you bolted towards him. He caught your wrist but the attack surprised him. He tripped on a tree stump and he was on the ground, you landing directly on top of him. You used the distraction to quickly pull out his earpiece, tossing it away.

“Caleb.” You tried again. He was frowning at you, his piercing eyes glassed over. Almost dazed. “You belong to me. Not them, remember? You’re mine.”

You kissed him. His breath hitched against your lips and his hands grabbed onto you in an iron-clad grip. He was trembling. Short-circuiting. For a chilling moment, you thought he’d throw you off him. You almost cried with relief when he kissed you back.

His lips moved frantically against yours, consuming you. He pulled you closer and angled his head, tongue swiping along your quivering bottom lip. You granted him access to explore your hot mouth, eagerly swallowing your gasps. 

A quiet whine slipped from you as he pulled back, trying to look into the depth of your soul from the way his eyes bore into yours. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry.”

His beautiful eyes brimmed with tears as the realisation hit him. He had become the very thing you both swore to destroy. And you saved him. A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough to make it up to you. “It’s okay Caleb. I know it wasn't you.” 

“My sweet girl…” His voice faltered, thick with long-repressed emotion. “I promise to spend every breath I take proving I’m yours.” 

The world shifted around you as he moved, suddenly underneath him. He captured your lips once more. His kiss was more urgent than before, like he was finally claiming you. 

Everything around you went dark. Nothing mattered. Only him. You snapped your gloves off to feel his soft hair between your fingers. He groaned at your touch. The sound coursed through your veins, melting into a simmering pool deep in your core.

He broke contact with your lips to leave heated kisses along your jaw, slowly moving to your neck. 

“I love you.” It came out of you like a plea.

It broke down every morsel of control within him. He lifted his head to look down at your face, drinking in the sight of your flushed face. He needed to have you. Completely. He never felt hunger like this.

You. You. You. The only thing that controlled him.

His mouth was on you, trailing along every bit of exposed skin he could find. His hands moved to the fastenings on your uniform, releasing them until the zipper slowly pulled down, revealing more of you.

Losing patience, he pushed the zipper faster until it was fully open. Then he ripped your uniform off in a few rough tugs. 

He sat up on his knees, taking in the sight of you, still covered by a sports bra and panties. With your uniform still in his shaking hands, he folded it. He gently lifted your head, placing the makeshift pillow under it. 

You didn’t care if you were currently lying on a bed of hot coals at this point. But his commitment to your comfort made your heart clench. The towering trees cocooned you from any trace of wind. You found the temperature surprisingly pleasant despite the lack of clothing.

He pressed his lips onto your forehead before he sat back. His eyes darkened at the growing spot of moisture that covered your core. He made quick work of his own uniform, tossing it carelessly when he was finally free.

You supported yourself on your elbows, caressing his body with your eyes. He almost shuddered. When you saw him, thick and straining against his briefs, you bit back a moan. 

“You like seeing me like this, don’t you Pip?” Caleb fed from the look of pure desire on your face. You reached behind you and unclasped your bra in response, still allowing it to cover your breasts. He crawled over you until his face was inches from yours. 

Tilting his head, he rested his mouth against your ear. “You’re the only one that can do this to me.” His words sent delicious shivers down your spine. Voice laced with a yearning so intense, it made you burn with raw need. 

You had imagined this moment during restless nights, hoping a release would tire you enough to stave off the dreams. You didn’t mind when the dreams still found you on those nights. Because they were all of him.

Caleb grabbed the front of your bra and wretched it from your body. He cursed as he looked down, reaching out to test the weight of one of your breasts. His thumb skimmed along the sensitive nub, earning him a hiss of pleasure. 

“Caleb…please.” You sounded so pretty when you begged. He made a mental note to himself, wanting to make you do it again and again in the future. But right now - he would give you everything you wanted. 

His fingers trailed along your skin as he travelled lower, brushing over the waistband of your panties. He continued until his fingers found the throbbing ache of your clit. You let out a guttural groan as he pressed softly, coaxing you with circles as you became a sodden mess against his fingers.

Your moans wrapped like a vice around his cock, making him impossibly harder. His mouth watered at the thought of your sweet juices on his tongue. Shifting so he was nestled properly between your thighs, he bent down. 

Your heart stopped as he pressed his nose against your clothed pussy. He inhaled deeply, your earthy scent obliterating every thought - every voice - from his mind. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the way he made something so..filthy, feel so good.

“Fuck.” His jaw clenched, hands gripping the swell of your thighs. He used them as his anchor before licking a hard strip up your swollen slit. You couldn’t take it. You needed more. 

“Caleb..ah. I need-“ Your brain turned to mush as your panties were moved to the side. Head tilted down, you watched the corner of his lip tug into a smirk.

“What do you need? I’ll give you everything.” You didn’t have a chance to reply. His wet hot tongue against your bare clit was like a jolt of electricity, back arching as you pushed into his face. He devoured your slick cunt, drinking from you like he had been thirsty for days.

You couldn’t stop watching him, buried between your thighs. It was the most erotic thing you’d ever seen. Your moans and the sound of Caleb slurping from you made your stomach clench, a familiar coil of pleasure building. Hard and fast.

Caleb groaned against your pussy, your arousal flooding his senses, heating his blood. Nothing could’ve ripped him from you, not now. Not when he craved the sight of you coming undone. 

One of his hands left your thighs, using a finger to coat himself in your slick. He brought it to your weeping hole, pushing slowly to avoid hurting you. He knew you’d be tight, virginity still intact. Knowing he was blessed to be your first was a privilege he’d never take for granted.

Your cunt greedily sucked him in. The realisation of how ready you were almost made him spurt right then. He pumped his finger into you, slowly stretching you out as he continued licking your clit.

The sensations of his tongue and finger had you writhing. You reached out and grasped his hair, pulling hard. It only made him work faster. Your orgasm was hurling towards you, the pitch of your voice rising.

When he curled his fingers, massaging your g-spot, all you saw was white. You came violently, screaming his name. Every ounce of restraint in him snapped but he kept working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

You had five seconds to come back to your senses before he tore your panties off. His briefs soon followed. Then he grabbed your wrists and lifted you up. Caleb crashed his lips against you once again, driven by a level of desire so intense, it bordered on madness.

He pushed you backwards, a soft whimper filling his mouth as you realised he had pinned you against the very tree that had trapped you before.

In an instant his hands grabbed your ass, sliding them down the back of your thighs. He hoisted you up effortlessly, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist. 

You could feel him poking against your belly. He was so hard, so swollen for you. It made your pussy ache as it clenched around nothing. You had never felt so empty.

He broke the feverish kiss, resting his forehead on yours. Nothing could describe the raw emotion that blew his pupils wide. His whole world was in his arms. You stole the air straight from his lungs.

“You are the most beautiful thing the stars will ever create.” His voice was barely a whisper. The glassy sheen of your eyes reflected a monster. A hard lump formed in his throat, making it nearly impossible to swallow. Tears damped his dark lashes. “And I tried to…”

His eyes squeezed shut. Too afraid to look at you. At himself. Your thumb swiped away the tears that ran down his cheek. You hated seeing him like this, broken by the men who made him. 

It wasn't his fault. Neither you nor he had any choice up until now. He felt your breath tickle his lips. “But you didn't Caleb. And that means somewhere…right here.” You pressed a hand over his thundering heart. “You’re still in there. I can feel it. Let me feel you.”

He kissed you then like he was trying to consume your faith in him, wanting to absorb it - like it could somehow replace the part of him they stole. You were his anchor. His reason to keep fighting against the programme that had taken everything from you both. 

You moved your hips, your body burning for him. Caleb let out a low hiss as you tried to bring him closer. Your teeth found his bottom lip, biting him so hard you almost drew blood. A sign to take back what was his.

He groaned against the pain, surrendering himself to the depth of his desire. Tightening his grip on you, he shifted his hips to align it with your wet heat. 

His eyes never left yours as he slowly pushed into you. 

You gasped as you felt him, stretching you out inch by inch. You welcomed the pain. “Good girl. Just a little more. You're doing so well.” He kissed your neck, sucking the sensitive spot just below your jaw. 

Pleasure started to mingle with the pain just as he finally bottomed out. You loved how full he felt inside you. “Move your hips for me.” Caleb purred. He wanted you to set the pace first until he was sure you were comfortable. 

You frowned at first, not understanding how to follow his request. Your hips pulled back, noticing the way Caleb’s muscles tensed. You felt yourself grow shy as you tested your movements. 

His lips parted, lost in how good you felt. So warm and tight. He used his hands to guide your hips, his cock dragging sinfully along the velvety wetness of your walls. The depraved sounds of your cunt, as it squelched from your hot slick, had him twitching inside you. When he heard you start to moan for him, he lost it.

He couldn't restrain himself anymore. He needed to fuck you. “Just hold onto me, Y/N. Tell me if it's too much, yeah?” He pulled back until his tip was barely inside, and then he thrusted. Hard. Again. And again.

He started fucking you like he owned you. Wanting to prove to you that he was here. He was yours. Every pretty sound that came from your mouth was rightfully earned. He relished in the sting of your nails as you gripped him for dear life.

Your foreheads pressed together, sticking with sweat. “You’re so perfect.” Your pussy fluttered at the carnal heat of his words. “You don't know how much I’ve thought about you like this. Having you a writhing mess, pussy so full that you can't think of anything but me.”

You didn't know how he learned to talk like that but it had you on the verge of gushing all over him. The rough grooves of the tree scratched your back but you were too drunk on his cock to care. 

“I want to feel you cum around my cock. You'll give it to me, yeah?” All you could do was nod, your voice overtaken by grunts and groans. Your release was slowly building, stars spotting your vision. 

“Such a. Good. Fucking. Girl. For me.” He thrust with each word. A hand slipped between your bodies, rubbing fast circles over your clit. His release was quickly chasing yours as your walls started to spasm.

“Oh god, Caleb. Please-” You were begging him to keep going as he pushed you to the edge. 

“Cum for me, beautiful. That's it.” Your whole body shook as you fell apart on his pistoning cock. You hard came all over him. Soaking his cock and onto his balls. It dripped onto the ground.

The sight instantly had his hips stuttering, your name the last thing on his lips before he pumped thick spurts of cum into your slobbering cunt. He whimpered into the crook of your neck as you milked every last drop. He didn't think he’d ever cum like that without you.

You both breathed heavily, recovering from the earth-shattering release. Completely satisfied. Caleb was the first to move, carefully sliding out of you before setting you down on your feet. His arms continued to support you as your thighs trembled. 

“Are you okay?” Concerned eyes scanned your face. 

You gave him a soft smile. “Yeah, just a little tender.” 

You were both silent, lost in thought. Reality had reared its ugly head. You obviously couldn't go back to the programme. They had clearly wanted to get rid of you. But Caleb?

As if he could read your mind, he pulled you into a tight embrace. Your face rested against his chest as he stroked your hair. He sighed deeply before he spoke.

“I’m not going to leave you, Y/N. I'll follow you to the end of every planet to keep you by my side. If I have to fucking kill them one by one, I’ll do it.” You hugged him harder, trying to fight back your tears. The way his voice wavered told you he was close to doing the same. 

“You're mine, okay? And until my heart stops…it will always be yours.” 

——

Psst. If you liked this, please tell me. If there’s anything my MC and I have in common, it’s praise 🥲

-Elle 🫡

[bonercoaster]

Tell Me What You're Feeling

“Are you… feeling it too?” You say, almost whispering. 

He stops in the middle of the room with his back to you. God, you can see the musculature of his back so well now that he took off that flannel. His fists are clenched and arms strained. Your body is on fire. You see his breathing pick up as he hears you approach him, gently placing your hand on his right shoulder. Joel whips around with a wild look in his eyes, his hand flying to the base of your neck to swiftly push you against a nearby wall, pinning you with his body–one hand at your throat and the other caging you in on your right side.

WARNINGS: filthy smut, a little fluff at the end, choking, sex spore/sex pollen fic, creampie, dominant Joel, fingering, pet names, p in v sex, begging, joel yells at reader but dw it's hot, the sex shrooms compel them to screw each other but they've both wanted this for a while, I know this is a javier pena gif but it was so hot i had to use it :3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

While on a supplies run with your partner for the day, Joel, it seems he’s been having a pretty grumpy day. Grumpier than usual at least. Something about a deal gone south earlier in the day, you guess. He walks swiftly through the trees, just slow enough that you’re having some trouble keeping up, and fast enough that you’re panting a little. 

“Joel for fucks sake, I have little legs can we PLEASE slow down? What’s the rush?” You pant, your lungs and legs begging for respite. 

Joel gives you a mean look, raising an eyebrow until he sees just how winded you are. You had to start jogging just to keep up with his brisk walking speed. He looks down, “M’sorry, didn’ realize, let’s take a breather.” 

You go sit down on what looks like a fallen tree. 

“You okay man? Can’t help but think you’re upset on account of the steam coming out of your ears” 

Joel fights a smile at that, you know what to say when he’s having a rough time. 

“M’fine it’s nothing.” His knees crack a little as he sits on the floor next to you, leaning on the stump as support for his back. 

You roll your eyes at him… typical. But at least he isn’t giving you shit. 

You shift your weight a little, beginning to look down  at Joel while you start to crack another stupid joke, but suddenly, your seat gives out from under you. The tree you’re sitting on seems to be rotted, and it just collapses, sending you falling butt-first about two feet into the newly created hole. You let out a surprised yelp and a plume of… are those spores?… rise up out of the tree. 

“Shit.” Joel, also surrounded by the spores, grabs your hands and helps you out of the hole, dragging your dazed self away from the area. 

“Are you okay? Doesn’ look like the cordyceps kind… need a minute?” 

You’re dazed, a little shocked but you’re physically okay.  “Thanks for pulling me out, I'm fine.” 

“Better get goin’ then, there’s shelter close by” 

You two traverse through the forest, you’re still a little dazed, and you wonder if you hit your head against the bark but you don’t feel a bump or any pain. A couple of minutes later it gets a little too warm, you shrug off your sweater, leaving you in just a tank top and some shorts, but that doesn’t stop the sweating. 

Joel just keeps walking, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. At some point you notice his eyes on you, but it’s awkward and you don’t feel very equipped to talk about anything right now so you swiftly look down and keep walking. Eventually, Joel tears his eyes away from you and just takes the lead, walking in front of you and wiping sweat from his own brow. His breath seems a little more labored than usual but you know better than to bring it up to the sometimes- sensitive- about- his- age, old man. You just keep walking until you realize something’s very wrong. 

The fever that’s come over you makes your whole body tingle. Your breasts ache, they feel swollen. Your skin is crawling and you’ve broken out in a cold sweat, and there’s this familiar ache deep inside of you that just won’t go away. It’s getting worse. Thankfully the house is within sight and you’re getting closer. Looking ahead of you, you notice Joel removing his flannel, revealing that he was wearing a white ribbed tank underneath. You notice the sweat glisten down his muscular shoulders and his flushed neck; your breath hitches at the sight of his arms. 

He stops for a moment at the sound, before he keeps walking, turning the knob to enter the house. Slowly. 

“Are you… feeling it too?” You say, almost whispering. 

He stops in the middle of the room with his back to you. God, you can see the musculature of his back so well now that he took off that flannel. His fists are clenched and arms strained. Your body is on fire. You see his breathing pick up as he hears you approach him, gently placing your hand on his right shoulder. Joel whips around with a wild look in his eyes, his hand flying to the base of your neck to swiftly push you against a nearby wall, pinning you with his body–one hand at your throat and the other caging you in on your right side. Joel’s crotch presses against you, making you gasp as you feel him hard against you.

Towering over you, Joel bends down nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck right underneath your jaw, inhaling deeply. The stubble of his beard lightly scratches against your skin causing you to break out in goosebumps and coaxing a whimper from your lips. Both of you are panting. Sweating, hearts racing. His face drags it’s way up your neck, toward your cheek, until his lips hover over yours. It’s intoxicating, his breath, the feeling of him rubbing himself all over you, his body pressed against yours, the way he smells, the way he is looking at you like you’re a meal to be devoured. It makes you dizzy, it makes you feel weak in more ways than one. The temptation to collapse into him and just let him have his way with you, beg him for more contact, to press your lips against his, to release all of the lewd noises you’ve been trying so hard to hold inside of you. 

“You first babygirl, talk to me, tell me what you’re feeling.'' Joel breathes, almost allowing his lips to touch yours. The hand at the base of your neck moving down your chest to begin kneading at your breast, an involuntary whine making its way out of your throat. 

“J-Joel.” Is all you could muster while he kneads your tender and sensitive breast. You’ve never felt so much all at once before, it’s overwhelming. 

Joel moves his lips back down toward your jaw, growling into your ear “What is it baby? Usually I can’t get ya to shut up. C’mon sweetness, d’ya think you could use your words f’me? Tell. Me. What. You’re. Feeling.” Joel growls out the demand, sending shockwaves down your stomach into your currently most neediest area. 

A long whine escapes you when Joel’s lips make contact with the skin under your jaw, sucking on the tender skin there, feeling his teeth and tongue run over the area. Joel keeps slowly kissing and sucking on your tender flesh while you, winded and overstimulated,  try to gather the necessary vocabulary to answer his question. 

“Joel I.. Please Joel. P-lease ahhh, ahh  please.” 

“Please what?  ‘m gonna need more than that from you, doll.” He says grinding his hard cock against you, making you gasp. “Mmm,” Joel sighs, a rumbling sound that comes from deep in his chest, “You make the most delicious sounds babygirl.” 

“Can’t handle… I need… Joel please!  I … need… please…need you.” You manage to gasp out, breathless and shaking. Your whole body is on fire, pussy throbbing, breasts even more swollen and needy, legs shaking, every hair on your body standing up on end. You just know you want him to touch you, hold you, kiss you. You want his tongue in your mouth and his cock in your cunt but you can’t verbalize it, so needy and head so cloudy. You’ve wanted this for a long time, but you could never find the courage to initiate anything. “P-lease Joel… please baby.” 

At that point Joel’s lips crash into yours with such an insatiable voracity, it knocks the wind right out of you. He kisses you like he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re the first drops of water he’s consumed in weeks. Joel’s tongue forces its way into your mouth and massages against yours while his hips grind against your own. Joel groans into your mouth, and it is the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. Your hands find their way up toward his curls while his own hands tug off your clothes, not breaking away from the kiss for more than one second. You’re both in your own little world together, all that exists right now is each other and the pleasure you both receive. You begin tugging at his undershirt  furiously, not caring if it rips, just needing to feel more of his bare skin. You hear him chuckle at your desperation, breaking away from you for just a couple of seconds so he could take off his tank, pressing his lips against yours again while he steps out of his pants and boxers. It’s… so big that it’s a little intimidating. Nevertheless, the fire inside of you rages hotter, needing more. Your skin tingling all over and your heart feeling like it is beating a million times per minute. 

Almost as if reading your mind, Joel’s fingers trail fire down your bare stomach before they dip into your wet heat, spreading your slick all over your clit, making you cry out. He inserts one of his large fingers inside of you causing you to clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. “Joel please, I need you now, I need, I need you!” You gasp out. You’re unsure how he could handle all this teasing, all you know is that you want his cock inside of you right now and the longer he takes, the more torturous this all becomes. Joel gently pushes you to the floor. He inserts another finger inside of you, and then another. “Joel baby ahh please!” Your cunt throbs around his fingers, you’re so close to your climax, and even though this is the most intense amount of pleasure you’ve ever felt, you can’t seem to get to that much needed sweet release, you think it might actually drive you insane. 

“Need t’make sure you’re prepared, baby” Joel pants. He doesn’t seem like he’s doing much better than you are, and it’s a delicious sight. His eyes wide and wild, skin flushed and sweaty. His muscles are tense, like he’s doing everything he can to hold himself back from straight up ravishing you. 

You grab him by the jaw and bark “NOW!” Desperate for him to stop holding back and just start 

His eyes darken and you see a hint of a smile show up on his face, but it’s different. If you weren’t so horny you might have otherwise found this expression frightening. He swiftly snatches his hand out of you and toward his member, you can’t help the groan that escapes from your lips. He positions himself right at your entrance before thrusting himself fully inside of you, the sensation so intense you can’t help but let out a loud moan that was probably closer to a scream. You both sit there panting for a couple of seconds, you look up at him and he’s squeezing his eyes, trying and failing to hold back groans and growls between his breaths. You realize he’s trying to give you time to adjust, and he’s really struggling. You grind your hips toward his, silently telling him it’s okay, keep moving which results in Joel letting out a sharp hiss before he starts moving.

It’s not long at all before he’s pounding into you with everything he’s got. His hands all over you, caressing your face, teasing your breasts, desperately grabbing at your thighs. With sweat dripping down his whole body and mingling with yours, his eyes are crazed, looking you over while you fall apart around him. Your eyes flutter shut as you get close… close…so close when one of his hands fly to your throat. While continuing to thrust at a punishing pace, he brings his face close enough to kiss you and between pants he growls out:

 “LOOK.   AT.   ME.” 

You immediately open your eyes and your orgasm hits you in waves, stronger and stronger, flooding and overwhelming your senses. You see he’s close too, his hips stutter and the rhythm you two had is now lost, Joel is pounding into you with everything he’s got until you feel him release inside of you. You two collapse into each other, exhausted, 

You cuddle yourself into him, nuzzling your face into his chest. After a few minutes, Joel clears his throat and speaks up and you’ve never heard him sound so nervous: “I’ve been wantin to do that for a very long time now…but if…” He trails off, takes a deep breath and continues: “If you don’t wanna mention this… I mean if you wanna forget all this happened I would respect that.” 

You shift your weight to sit up just a little and bring your hand to his cheek. Joel closes his eyes, he can't help but lean into your hand. You speak up: “I’ve been wanting this for a while too, Joel.” 

Joel leans over toward you, and presses his lips against yours. “Alright then.”

[cherienymphe]

I Know What You Did Last Summer (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS, MURDER, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, BLOOD, KNIFEPLAY, STALKING, ANGST, voyeurism, underage drinking, JJ x reader, pogue!reader

➥ Happy Halloween weekend!

➥ banner by @maysdigitalarts​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​​|  ➥ divider by @/kimjiho1

summary: When your friends start dying one by one, you're not exactly honest when the police ask if you know of anyone who'd want to hurt them. You do...but he's dead. You know this because you buried him.

~

You stared out into the water, a rare morning in which you woke up early enough to watch the sun rise over Outer Banks. This time last year, you might’ve tried to catch a wave or two, a way for you to often escape and clear your head. However, the problems of last year were gone and there was nothing left for you to escape from.

No one left for you to escape from.

Your gaze fell to the dock beneath your feet, eyes glazing over as memories of a tumultuous relationship plagued your thoughts. The memory of bruised skin and aching limbs made you shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself, the cool North Carolina breeze having nothing to do with it. You tensed for half a second at the sound of a familiar voice on the wind before realizing that you were only imagining it as you often did these days.

Some days you thought you were going crazy, but then you reminded yourself that no sane person could do what you did and walk away with no baggage whatsoever. Then again, it could be argued that no sane person could do what you did period. Thoughts of that night left a sour taste in your mouth, and for the past year, you constantly worried if you did the right thing. It didn’t matter if you did or didn’t because it wasn’t like you could take it back, but still…

Analyzing your past decisions made you feel less like a sociopath or something.

When you heard your mom calling you from the house, you pulled yourself away from the water. Your dad was just heading out for work, and he exchanged a quick hug with you on the way to his truck. You could tell that your 180 within the past year stumped them, but it was in that good way that always sparked a bunch of compliments—you’re so much happier or you’re talking more or you’re around a lot more.

The difference was noticeable to anybody who knew you…and everyone knew why.

Even if they didn’t want to say it.

“You know I leave for work in a little bit, but I put some bacon in the oven, and I just wanted you to know so you could take it out.”

You smiled at her, leaning against the counter.

“We’ll see how long it lasts once JJ gets here,” you told her.

Your tone was mocking, but you both knew you were entirely serious. After telling her that you might be staying at Kie’s tonight, you bid her goodbye, gaze focused on the oven as you checked the bacon. You knew it wouldn’t be long before half of your friends burst through that door, and so you didn’t hesitate to take it out the moment it looked like it was done.

It was when you were placing the pan on the stove top…when you heard it.

It was a light thump that came from the back of the house, and you paused with a frown. It was hardly anything—could’ve easily been a limb falling out of a tree or something—if it wasn’t for the fact that it sounded like it came from inside of the house. Your frown deepened the longer you stood there, listening some more without success. With reluctance, you wrote it off, and you only just relaxed when you felt hands on your shoulders.

“Jesus!”

You pressed your hand to your chest, frowning over your shoulder as both a familiar blond and brunette made themselves comfortable at your table. You hadn’t even heard them pull up, oblivious even to the door opening.

“No, JJ,” the voice behind you corrected with a chuckle, and you rolled your eyes.

“Hilarious,” you commented. “I didn’t even hear you guys come in.”

“Kind of figured when you grabbed your chest just then,” Sarah said with a small smile. “What were you looking at, anyway?”

Her question reminded you of the noise, and realizing that it was probably them you heard, you shrugged.

“Thought I heard something, but it was just you guys.”

By now, JJ had joined them, leaning back in a chair.

“You’re still coming to Rose’s little ‘fall festivity’ right? Somehow Wheezie got out of going by talking our dad into letting her go to a sleepover instead, and I don’t really wanna be alone.”

Her words quieted some near the end, a brief awkward silence as your eyes met hers, both of you ignoring the obvious.

“Of course,” you assured her. “I told my mom I’d probably be staying at Kie’s since it’s closer to your house. Knowing Rose, this thing could go on all night.”

Sarah agreed with that, interrupting John B and JJ’s conversation.

“You can still change your mind, you know,” she told him with a pout, bumping his shoulder with her own.

The face he made was answer enough, and she huffed.

“Besides, even if I wanted to, I’m sure Ward would be thrilled about that,” her boyfriend mumbled.

“You know he’s better, now. He’s not so against you ever since…”

Your best friend trailed off, and your gaze found the floor just as all of theirs traveled to you. The silence was short—not so much awkward—but definitely far from light. You all knew what Sarah was going to say, how Ward stopped caring about so many superficial things. How he was the kind of man who focused on things that actually mattered, now.

He was the kind of man who carried grief, now.

…and it changed him for both the better and the worst.

“I’m going to go and grab my purse and change of clothes. Bacon’s all yours,” you mostly said to JJ, quick to leave the room.

Once inside your room, your eyes landed on your mirror, gaze lingering on the bare space where dozens of pictures used to be. It had been a little over a year since you’d taken them down, but sometimes, when you recalled the happier times before it all went up in flames, you missed them. You missed looking at them when you did your makeup or even just lingering on them when you were on the phone.

Chest aching for so many reasons, you forced yourself to turn away.

It was as you were grabbing your purse and the extra bag with your dress for tonight did you glance up. You blinked at your window, a small frown forming between your brows. Approaching it, you reached out, slowly pulling it back down and locking it shut, desperately trying to remember if you’d even let it up the night before.

“I swear to God, Rose is about to lose her shit,” Sarah chuckled from next to you. “She bought that dress months ago for this stupid party only for her to show up wearing the same one.”

You sipped on your drink that you were definitely not supposed to be having, a light laugh of your own escaping. The little soiree was everything Sarah said it would be, and you could see why Wheezie took the opportunity to bail. It wasn’t Halloween yet, but like every year—or almost every year—Rose was having a series of parties leading up to the last night in October. You were just about to drag Sarah to the kitchen in search of those little finger sandwiches when a loud clanging noise caught everyone’s attention.

Ward stood in the center of the living room when you looked over.

The older man had a glass in his hand and was setting down a fork with the other. You couldn’t get over how much he’d changed in a year, and something in your chest ached, guilt eating at you. There was a small smile on his lips, but the rest of his expression didn’t exactly match up. Somehow, you knew that you weren’t going to like whatever he had to say.

“Um…sadly, we weren’t blessed to partake in one of Rose’s fabulous get togethers last year…”

You swallowed at the way the mood in the room seemed to sink, and you didn’t need to look over to find Sarah glancing at you.

“As you all know, my only son Rafe went missing around this time a year ago.”

Somber murmurs filled the room, and your hand tightened on your drink. Tuning Ward out, the only thing you heard was white noise, probably missing another tangent about how he wished he’d been less hard on him and had done more to heal their relationship before he had to file that missing person’s report that fateful morning.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you fought to keep a frown off of your face.

Memories of dark blond hair and intense blue eyes plagued your mind, making your stomach turn. If Ward’s memories with Rafe were less than fond, then yours were absolutely gut-wrenching. The hairs on your arm stood on end as you thought about the last time you’d seen your ex-boyfriend, and you felt your feet carrying you down the stairs just as Sarah reached for you.

The backyard was empty when you made it outside, and the fresh air did so little to calm you down.

You could hear the blood rushing in your ears at the thought of Rafe, a cold chill passing through you. With a huff, you stepped out of your heels, tears kissing your eyes as you thought about Ward in there giving some grand speech about Rafe and their relentless efforts to find him. You were pulled out of it by the sound of your name, and you wiped your face, oblivious to the fact that some tears had even spilled over.

Sarah’s sympathetic gaze met yours when you turned around.

“Are you okay…?” she whispered, and you sniffed.

“What do you think?” you lightly wondered, a humorless chuckle escaping as you shrugged. “Who knew that a felony was all it took for Rafe to finally get the love he always wanted.”

Your words were scathing, and Sarah slowly approached you, reaching for you.

“Hey…hey,” she repeated until you looked at her. “You’re safe, now. Rafe can’t ever hurt you ever again.”

While those words brought you comfort, they did nothing to diminish your anger.

“It’s not…fair,” you breathed, shaking your head. “He was nothing short of a monster to me…and they talk about him, now, like he was some angel come to earth.”

You knew it bothered Sarah too—she was there that night after all—and she sighed. The blonde pulled you into a hug, holding you tight and rubbing your back. You sometimes wondered if her feelings on the matter were as black and white as yours. Rafe was her brother, after all, and despite their less than enviable relationship, she had to have still loved him.

“Do you think they’ll ever find him?”

You said the words so quietly, as if paranoid someone would hear despite the fact that you were alone. Sarah tensed for half a second, probably because for the first time in months, you were explicitly talking about what you did that night—what all four of you did. She pulled away, gaze somber and resolved all at once.

“It’s been a year,” she said as if that were answer enough. “…turns out the police are even more useless than we all thought.”

You swallowed, and Sarah fought to calm you.

“If they haven’t found him by now then…”

She trailed off with a shrug, but you weren’t so convinced. While plenty of people got away with murder, plenty of others did not, and it didn’t matter that Rafe’s temper had escalated so badly one night until it came down to your life or his. Nobody would care that he used to threaten you and choke you and harm you so bad that you could barely walk sometimes. They wouldn’t care about any of that.

All that would matter was that he was Rafe Cameron, Ward Cameron’s son.

…and you’d killed him.

John B was the first to die.

…and maybe that was why the horrible truth didn’t even cross your mind then.

Your sleep-addled brain fought hard to make sense of the words pouring out of Cleo’s mouth, and despite how unbelieving they were, the feminine wails you could hear in the background told you they were true whether you wanted them to be or not. Sarah’s choked sobs were the last thing you heard before Cleo was forced to hang up.

You didn’t even remember throwing on clothes, only knowing that you somehow managed to leave the house looking halfway decent.

When you made it to the hospital, Sarah was nowhere to be found.

“She was…” Kie trailed off, shaking her head. “They had to give her something.”

You took in the way Kiara was shaking, and unable to keep standing, she collapsed in a chair. You wanted to ask her what happened, but you could see it on her face that she couldn’t handle that, right now. Her eyes were shiny and glazed over, and she looked like she was going to be sick. She looked like she could barely even breathe.

“What…? I don’t…”

You couldn’t get it out, feeling wholly numb as your gaze met Cleo’s. The dark-skinned girl ran her hands down her face, her own gaze tearful.

“They found him in the water, man.”

Her soft words made your heart sink, and you frowned.

“Said he got tangled up somehow… Drowned.”

At that, you did finally sit down, reaching out to hold the armrest. Somehow, any other cause of death would’ve made it feel less real, preposterous maybe. You just couldn’t see John B. dying at the hands of some asshole or choking on his food or run down like a dog in the street.

…but drowning?

John B. dying in the water—a place he loved and often frequented—made sense.

That you could believe.

“Pope and JJ are on the way,” Kie mumbled so low you almost didn’t hear her.

Nothing about any of this felt real. It was only yesterday that you were talking to John B., tossing a beer at his head after some slick remark. You couldn’t quite process that you’d never be able to do that again. Your best friend was gone. Sarah’s boyfriend was gone, and you wouldn’t see nor talk to him again. It didn’t make sense, and maybe that lack of reason was what kept you numb, kept you staring at the white floors of the hospital until two familiar figures made themselves known.

It wasn’t until your eyes lifted and met JJ’s did it really hit you.

The pain in his face from losing the friend he’d known practically since birth seeped into you too, and you were on your feet before JJ’s legs could fail him. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight for both of your sakes, and your tears finally spilled over when you felt JJ’s hitting your skin.

You never really saw JJ cry much—it just wasn’t like him. You didn’t know if that was just the way he was or if he took it upon himself to be the obligatory goofy friend who was almost always in a good mood. Today, however, JJ cried harder than you’d ever seen him, the death of his best friend a thousand times worse than anything Luke could do to him.

He held you like a lifeline, even well into the night when everyone was forced to retreat to their homes, nothing more anyone could do. Even if JJ could find some comfort in his own home, you wouldn’t dare ask him to, feeling that same refusal to be alone. You had only been able to shake your head at your mom when she came to see if you wanted—needed—anything.

You didn’t miss the way her sad and heavy gaze fell to JJ in your arms, the blond boy sobbing into your chest as you held him on your bed.

Neither of you talked for what felt like days. There really wasn’t much to say, anyway. On the off chance that JJ moved, it was purely to use the bathroom or eat something that would keep him off the brink of starvation. You couldn’t really tell if you were handling it better than him or if you were just coping in an equally unhealthy way.

There was just this understanding that grief had kind of taken both of your voices.

JJ leaned on you throughout the entirety of John B.’s funeral, and when your eyes met Pope’s, you shook your head at the silent question in his dark eyes. They flitted to JJ at that, and you weren’t surprised to see them holding each other at the end of the service. John B. was like a brother to both of them, and maybe they could help each other in ways the rest of you couldn’t.

“Why was he out there so late?”

That was what Kie wondered as you all sat at The Chateau, still fighting to understand your new reality without John B. only hours after his funeral.

“We all always go swimming whenever,” you told her, and she shook her head.

“…but never that late…and if so, never alone,” she argued, looking at all of you. “They think he died around one in the morning. There was no alcohol or anything in his system. Why would John B. be out there at one in the morning?”

“What does it matter?” JJ spat, making you flinch. “Why are we sitting here trying to analyze this when John B. is dead? Huh?”

Kie looked taken aback, and you could see her mentally reminding herself that JJ was in pain.

“I’m just saying-.”

“No, I know what you’re trying to do.”

The blond was standing, now, angrily staring down at her.

“Trying to make sense of this, trying to find something or someone to blame because that’s easier to swallow than the truth,” he nastily threw at her. “John B.’s death doesn’t make sense…and sometimes that’s just life.”

He stormed off before anyone could respond, and you swallowed at the sound of his bike starting up. You took Kie’s hand at the sight of her forlorn expression, gently squeezing it and sending her a smile. JJ was angry, probably angrier than any of you, and he wasn’t keen on how Kie was trying to deal with it either. The silence after he left was thick, and you felt almost afraid to speak your mind too, because now that Kie had said it, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It didn’t make sense for John B. to be out in the water that late.

You shouldn’t have been surprised when JJ kissed you only a few days after John B.’s funeral, but you were.

You all were grieving, and besides Sarah who hadn’t left her home in days, JJ wasn’t coping well. He was so angry and confused and hurt, and truthfully, you’d just been happy he wasn’t going off on some bender or starting fights. He didn’t exactly grow up with the best example on how to cope with anything, and so when he pressed his lips to yours on your front porch, you could only think that there were worse ways to handle this.

Your breathing was uneven as he ran his hands over you, backing you up into your house. Your parents weren’t home, adulthood stopping for no one in the midst of tragedy, and you held onto JJ to keep from tripping over your own feet. You’d wondered what it’d feel like to kiss JJ sometimes, but only ever in passing, and you could count the number of times on one hand. It was bound to happen at least once or twice when you were friends for as long as you had been.

The kiss was rough but not unenjoyable, and you moaned into his mouth when your back met your couch. To your surprise, you liked the feel of JJ’s body on yours, keeping you trapped between him and the couch, and the blond sighed into the kiss when your fingers ran up his back, dipping beneath his shirt. When his lips ghosted along your jaw, your gaze landed on the ceiling, and you arched your chest up into his. His lips were pressing open mouth kisses to your throat, and when your gaze roamed—landing on the window behind him—you violently flinched.

“What’s wrong-?”

JJ cut his own words off when you sat up, lips parted as you stared at the window.

It was dark, and the longer you stared outside, the sillier you felt. Your heart was racing so fast—much too fast—and for a moment, you were scared you were having a heart attack. You felt overheated, and your skin was fighting to get back to normal instead of clammy. JJ said your name again, and you merely shook your head at him, struggling to stop your hands from trembling and your vision from swaying.

For just a moment, you could’ve sworn that someone was outside and standing right outside of that window. It was brief, quite literally a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ moment, but it wasn’t solely that that had you fighting to calm down, right now. You reached up, rubbing your chest and blinking back tears, hardly paying attention to JJ’s concern.

The way the person stood—their height, their build, their stance—it was all too familiar.

It looked eerily similar to your ex-boyfriend.

That thought had you standing, and you pressed your hand to your forehead. A few tears escaped without your consent, and you licked your lips, finally admitting to yourself why this whole John B. situation had you numb. The thought of John B. now had your chest aching, and for a brief moment, you weren’t seeing your best friend be lowered into the ground.

It was Rafe.

“Are you okay…?”

You finally acknowledged JJ, and you looked at him with a tearful gaze.

“No, I don’t think I am,” you choked out. “It’s not…it’s not your fault, I promise.”

“I shouldn’t have done that-.”

“No, JJ, it’s okay! You didn’t do anything wrong,” you assured him. “I’m just not handling this as well as I thought I was.”

He seemed to understand that, nodding at you.

The silence wasn’t tense or anything, but it was a little awkward. After all, one moment you and JJ were clearly about to have sex, and now, you couldn’t get rid of the cold chill that came over you. You glanced at the window again, so sure that you’d seen someone there, only looking away when JJ pulled you down to sit with him.

“You know I like you,” he whispered, making your eyes widen a bit. “Well, now you know.”

You blinked at him, oddly thinking that whatever this was tonight was some combination of grief and loneliness and the result of a violent confrontation with his own mortality. JJ ran his hand through his blond locks, sighing.

“First it was the whole Pogue on Pogue thing,” he said to which you snorted, recalling the day Pope and Cleo waltzed into The Chateau holding hands. “…then it was Rafe.”

You looked down at that, tightening your arms around yourself at the mention of your ex.

“Then Rafe went missing, and it didn’t seem right even though you didn’t seem…sad about it.”

You swallowed at that, a wet and muddy night coming to mind.

“…but now my best friend is dead, and I’m scared that if I wait another minute, it’ll be too late.”

Your gaze softened at that, looking at him, and it really didn’t take you long to realize that deep down you’d liked JJ too. You first noticed the feeling after the third or fourth time Rafe had hit you, and you just remembered thinking that JJ would never. You hadn’t lingered on it, but now you were wishing you had. Maybe if you felt like you had a way out, you would’ve left Rafe sooner. The relationship might not have continued.

…and that night never would’ve happened.

With the death of John B., you understood exactly what JJ meant. John B. hadn’t been some old man pushing ninety who lived this long and fulfilling life. He was eighteen, unable to even get the chance to start. It was unexpected and heartbreaking but most of all scary, so when you took the blonde’s hand, you didn’t hesitate to pull him closer, pressing your lips to his.

You had no idea that while taking the first step with JJ into the second relationship you’d ever have, Pope’s body was being dumped in the water.

When you all collectively made the decision the next morning to go and see Sarah, no one thought too much of it when Pope didn’t answer. Sarah was allowed her solitude to grieve, you felt she was owed that, but none of you wanted your friend to deal with this alone for too long. Considering how early it was, everyone just assumed that he was still asleep when you decided to meet up.

JJ—now in the possession of the Twinkie—made the decision to slow down at the sight of so many squad cars near the water. It was strange, and there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that you just couldn’t shake. Outer Banks was not without its fair share of crime, but you’d never had the misfortune of witnessing a coroner’s van pull up to the scene.

“What do you think that’s about?” Cleo wondered.

You spoke without thinking.

“Call Pope again.”

You could feel several pairs of eyes on you as you looked out of the window, and there was a beat of silence before they all reached for their phones at once. That twisted feeling only tightened when none of them got an answer. You didn’t voice your thoughts, partly because you didn’t want to be the one to, but you also didn’t want to make them true, somehow.

…but they were true whether you said them aloud or not.

You’d never been inside of an interrogation room—or Kildare County’s version of one, anyway. You never thought you would be, but in this moment, you were thinking of a lot of things you never thought would be. Shoupe—a man you’d grown used to seeing all your life—handed you a cup of water, and your fingertips only grazed it as it sat on the table.

With the discovery that Pope was now dead too, the numbness you’d felt was forced to crack and shatter. While Cleo had to be restrained and held back from ambushing the crime scene, you’d been unable to keep upright, collapsing right there on the side of the road. The entire gruesome debacle had attracted a crowd. After all, Outer Banks just wasn’t used to this, and several people tried to help you remain conscious—namely JJ.

You didn’t even remember breaking down, didn’t even remember being approached by the cops. You actually could barely remember a thing after witnessing a familiar body being pulled from the murky water. You knew that you cried, had to, because your eyes were tight. You knew that you screamed because your throat was raw. You knew these things because of how you felt…not because you actually remembered any of it.

Shoupe’s sigh made you blink, and instead of laying on the side of that road, you were surrounded by four walls.

“Do you know of…anyone who’d want to hurt Heyward’s son?”

His words gave you pause, and you lifted your gaze with a deep frown.

“…what?” you choked out after some time.

His gaze was soft—Pope was your friend and he’d watched you both grow up as thick as thieves—but also inquiring. You watched him briefly lick his lips, sighing to himself as he pressed a hand to his forehead. He seemed to be conflicted, having some kind of internal battle before reaching out to you across the table.

“Pope was dead before he was in the water.”

You merely blinked at him, not quite processing his words.

“Someone…someone cut his throat.”

At that, your vision blurred, and you could see on Shoupe’s face that he was predicting what was about to happen before you even tried to stand. The older man reached for you again, attempting to keep you from falling, but your feet tripped over one another as your legs lost their strength. When your knees hit the hard floor, your brain didn’t even register the pain.

Burying two friends within two weeks of each other was something you would’ve never predicted. Not until you were in your seventies, at least. It felt like the opposite of unreal. It felt too real because all you could feel was pain. It was numbing and excruciating all at once somehow, and having the whole town look at you like some walking magnet for tragedy didn’t help.

In truth, all of your friends got the stares. Two out of the group were gone—one drowned and one brutally murdered—and people looked at the rest of your friends like they didn’t know what to think of them…but you? Oh, they looked at you like they both feared and hated you, and you knew why.

It was only a year ago that your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—had gone missing, and now two of your friends met the same fate everyone suspected Rafe did. There was something in their eyes that held blame, and you might have found it funny if you weren’t so angry and sad and miserable.

You were only responsible for one of them.

“No fingerprints, no footprints, no nothing,” Kie whispered, angrily. “It’s like Pope was just killed and dumped by a ghost.”

JJ was silent as he stared out into the rich girl’s yard, and you worriedly eyed him. Cleo too. It’s not like any of you were doing okay, but JJ had lost the two people he was closest to in the world, and Cleo was now in the same boat as Sarah. It was then that the blonde girl shifted, a noise leaving her throat that had you all looking over.

“Do I have to be the one to say what we’re all thinking?”

She looked between you all with a heavy gaze, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“That John B.’s accident wasn’t an accident…?”

Your lips parted at that, and you looked around to see that no one else had expected that either. No one else but Kie who simply wrapped her arms around herself. You recalled her words from last week, how she’d questioned why John B. was even out on the water that late. JJ had been so quick to shut it down, and despite having the same question as Kie, you’d also forced yourself to let it go.

You hadn’t wanted to fathom that someone had killed John B.

“Now, hold on-.”

“Oh, come on, JJ!” Sarah cried. “John B. drowns at one something in the morning, and a week later one of his best friends is murdered?”

You swallowed, hating this conversation.

“This is too coincidental,” she whispered, wiping her face.

The silence was loud as her accusation—and the implications that came with it—just hung in the air. You all looked between each other, and you could see it then. It was sinking in that this was too much of a coincidence, and Cleo spoke up.

“Why would anyone want to hurt them?”

“I think you mean why would anyone want to hurt us,” Kie threw out, and you all froze. “If someone did kill John B. and that same person killed Pope…isn’t it safe to assume they’re working their way through the group?”

You stood, really hating this conversation now, and stared out into the yard.

“I mean, what? Only John B. and Pope happened to piss this person off?”

“That’s even if what you’re saying is true,” JJ argued, visibly disturbed, now. “I mean, think about this. Who the hell did all of us piss off this damn bad? Huh? That doesn’t make any sense.”

It was then that your gaze met Cleo’s, and something passed through her eyes that you also knew passed through yours. You didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that the other girl was thinking about that night, recalling a bloodstained carpet and shovels that would never see the light of day. Your lips parted as your gaze lowered, and feeling like you might be sick, you sat down. No. There was nothing you could think of that all of you had done to collectively anger someone this much. However, there was something that came to mind that four of you had done.

…but Rafe was dead.

He’d been dead for a year, and so what Cleo was obviously thinking was clearly not possible.

Even with that fact, it still didn’t prevent you from being terrified, and it was no surprise that none of you wanted to be alone. Even if John B.’s accident was just that, someone had still killed Pope, and Outer Banks now had a murderer in their midst. If people looked at you with disdain before, then it was nothing in comparison to when a curfew was enforced.

“First it was Rafe…”

You tensed at the sound of the voice.

“…then John B. and now Pope.”

You cut your eyes to Kelce as he walked by you.

“We don’t need a curfew. What we need is to search your damn house,” he sneered, turning his back to you as he strode away.

You crossed your arms over your chest as you waited for Sarah to exit the shop. You knew that Kelce wasn’t alone in his sentiment. It was only just the day before when your eyes had met Topper’s, the blonde’s gaze unreadable despite the clenching of his jaw. Topper was never the kind of guy to evoke intimidation, but that was before he thought you had something to do with the disappearance of his best friend.

When Rafe went missing, you were questioned. It was expected. After all, you weren’t just his girlfriend but also the girlfriend who everyone knew he would literally get crazy about. Your rocky off-and-on relationship was no secret, so naturally you were the first to be brought in. The police hadn’t been able to find anything though, not then and not for the past year, so any suspicions anyone might’ve had were probably long forgotten about.

Until now.

The only difference was that now not only did they think you killed Rafe, but also your best friends.

“They’re assholes. You know that,” Sarah told you as she drove you back to her place.

The Cameron household was where you’d been staying when you weren’t at home with JJ. Ever since that night, something in you felt wrong about accepting the Cameron’s hospitality and even setting foot into their house. That night was complicated, this much was true, but the fact remained that you were responsible for their pain. Ward would never be reunited with his son because of you.

Smiling in their faces and eating at their table left a sour feeling in your gut.

“…but I did kill Rafe,” you whispered.

Sarah glanced at you at that.

“We all did,” she finally said. “…and it wasn’t like that. He was choking you, he was…he was killing you. It was self-defense.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the cops will think rolling him up and burying him in the woods was self-defense,” you scoffed.

Sarah was parked in her yard, now, and she gripped your arm. Her expression was hard as she stared at you, lips pressed together.

“Stop that,” she bit out. “Rafe… Rafe wasn’t going to stop. We had no choice, and do I sometimes wish things had ended differently for him and for us? Yeah. Even the most estranged of siblings don’t actually want to kill each other, but what’s done is done.”

She looked between your eyes, and you swallowed, recalling that silent conversation with Cleo. You licked your lips, touching your forehead and swallowing down a sigh.

“What if it’s not done?” you wondered, almost inaudibly.

When you looked at Sarah again, there was a frown on her face.

“We definitely know of someone who’d want us dead,” you whispered, and you watched the color drain from Sarah’s face.

“…and he’s dead.”

“…but what if he’s not?” you choked out. “What if…? I mean, sure, there was blood and we hit him twice and we buried him, but what if-.”

“Stop,” Sarah breathed, resting her hands on the wheel. “Stop talking.”

“Sarah-.”

“I said stop!”

The blonde girl looked visibly distressed, eyes wide and lips trembling as she stared ahead.

“We killed him. He’s dead…and he can’t hurt you or anyone else ever again.”

Sarah sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than you. You could see how upsetting this conversation was for her, and again, you wished that night had gone differently. Getting your friends caught up in your relationship problems was your biggest regret, and no matter how many times they insisted they’d never take it back, it did nothing to ease your guilt.

Repeating Sarah’s words in your mind, you put thoughts of Rafe behind you.

You were having a horrifying case of déjà vu.

Around this time a year ago, you were also out in the middle of the woods at night, repeatedly stabbing at the dirt with a shovel. It had just rained then, and the ground had been wet—soft. You’d been less calm then, but also somehow less terrified than you were, now. A year ago, it had been four of you digging a hole.

Tonight, it was three.

Sticking together was the plan. Even if you didn’t collectively agree on it, there was the thought in all of your minds that someone was after you. Even JJ, who was in denial, didn’t turn down Sarah’s offer to sleep over at her place. Any other time where Rose and Ward would’ve vehemently opposed several Pogues taking up residence in their house, they were now a lot more welcoming.

Any doubt that you were being hunted like animals was nowhere to be found the night you discovered Cleo’s body.

The four of you were sleeping in Sarah’s room—JJ in the guest room right next door—when you heard the faintest thump. It seemed like forever ago, but in the night, it was oddly reminiscent of the day of Rose’s fall festivity or whatever—before John B. died. You recalled the noise you’d heard that day, your open window, and where you had written both of those things off, you now looked back in fear.

You’d sat up, rubbing your eyes and looking around. Noticing Cleo’s absence, you told yourself that she was getting something to drink or going to the bathroom. However, your effort to lay back down was halted when you heard it again—a faint thump from downstairs that made your hair stand on end for some reason. Glancing at your remaining best friends, you pushed yourself to your feet.

“Cleo?”

Your kept your voice low as you stood at the top of the stairs, not wanting to unnecessarily wake the whole house. Only silence met you, and you frowned. The stillness of the house felt heavy, suffocating, and it unnerved you. It was just moments ago that it wasn’t so silent, and you walked back to Sarah’s room.

Glancing inside, there was still no sign of Cleo, and facing the fact that she wasn’t in the bathroom, you made your way downstairs.

The whole house was dark, and telling yourself that a light would be on if she was in the kitchen, you flipped the switch. An empty kitchen met you, as you expected, and your frown deepened. Walking back to the staircase, you looked up, a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach as you climbed them. There were only so many places that she could be, and wondering if you’d missed her somehow, you checked all of the bathrooms. She wasn’t back in Sarah’s room either.

As you stood in the hallway, the complete darkness made you freeze.

It didn’t register, at first, and you stood there wracking your brain. Goosebumps completely covered your skin, now, and as you stared ahead, something in the back of your mind was screaming at you—sending off alarm bells. Something about this picture wasn’t right, and once it clicked, your heart sank to your gut.

There was no light coming from downstairs.

The kitchen light was now off.

Stumbling into Sarah’s room, you shook her and Kie awake.

“What, what?” the tan girl mumbled, Sarah’s huff coming from behind you.

“Something’s wrong,” you said, words tumbling over each other. “I can’t find Cleo.”

Both of them were wide awake, now, and Kie was frowning at you when Sarah turned her light on.

“What…?” she asked, disbelieving.

You tried to keep calm.

“I heard something, and I saw Cleo was gone, but she’s not in the bathroom, and she’s not downstairs,” you rushed out.

Sarah was still for half a second before she ran out of the room. While Kie went with her, you took it upon yourself to wake JJ, and once past his confusion, he was right on your heels as you made your way downstairs too. Kie was looking out the windows while Sarah searched each room.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” JJ said. “Don’t you guys have some alarm code or something? It’s not like she could’ve left without waking the whole house.”

JJ was right.

“So, what? You’re saying she’s still in the house? Hiding and playing some sick joke?” Sarah wondered, visibly stressed and scared. “That’s insane.”

You wondered if you should speak up about the kitchen light, about how someone had blatantly turned it off when you went upstairs. That car conversation with Sarah was on your mind, and your vision swam for a bit as you fought to keep upright. It might not be Cleo, but someone was definitely playing some sick joke.

“I’m going to wake my dad,” Sarah breathed. “This…this isn’t right.”

As she made to go upstairs, you slowly made your way to the back door. You stared out of the windows, scanning the yard for anything that might make sense of all this. The yard was empty, and you could hear JJ and Kie behind you as they talked and tried to make sense of what was going on. Too busy scanning the trees and what you could see of the neighbors, your gaze was focused much too high.

When you saw her, you wanted to be sick.

“Oh my God,” you choked out. “Oh my God, oh my God!”

You were scrambling to unlock the door before JJ or Kie could question you, and the house alarm was loud as you threw the door open. The grass was dewy and slippery, and you quite literally fell a few times before you reached her. You collapsed right next to her, and Kie’s scream was even louder than yours once she fully registered what she was seeing.

Your arms shook as you held Cleo’s broken body, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were too busy trying not to choke on your own sobs, you might’ve been screaming too. You could feel JJ’s hands on your shoulders as he tried to get you to let her go, but you felt possessed.

You couldn’t not hold her.

By now the rest of the household was outside too, and you could hear Rose on the phone, frantic and horrified. Mr. Cameron’s voice was in your ear as he too tried to get you to let her go. You couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t like you were hurting her any more—she was dead. Any hope for otherwise died the moment your wide eyes met her equally wide ones, dark gaze focused on the sky above. You felt like the least you could do was hold her—some kind of apology for not finding her sooner.

You were only convinced when the police showed up, Shoupe practically begging you to.

“We have to take her, now,” he said to you, his eyes meeting yours. “We have to do right by her and try and figure out what happened. You want that, don’t you?”

You remembered just staring at him, lips parted and chest heavy, before finally letting her go. JJ was quick to pull you beside him, his own hands trembling as he held you close. You knew that it was partly for you and partly for him. You completely leaned on him, feeling like you were moments away from fainting.

Especially so when you glanced up…your eyes landing on the open window of the second-floor bathroom.

You weren’t surprised the next day when you were face to face with Shoupe again and he said:

“She broke her neck.”

That wasn’t news to you. You found her…you held her, after all. You saw what she looked like, so his words were expected. His next, however, were not.

“Now, that could’ve happened when she fell…or it could’ve happened before.”

Your gaze lifted then, watching the older man heave a sigh and lean in closer across the table. His gaze was completely serious, lips pressed together and jaw clenched. He clasped his hands together as he regarded you.

“Now…I asked you this before when we pulled Pope out of that water…”

You swallowed.

“…and you gave me your answer then, and I believed you, but now I’m asking again.”

Tears kissed your eyes.

“…and depending on how you answer, I may not believe you this time.”

Dark blond hair and blue eyes filled your vision, a smooth and almost raspy baritone bouncing around between your ears. For just a moment, you weren’t in that room face to face with Shoupe. You were one year younger and rolling a lithe frame up in a bloody carpet. You and three other girls were carrying it to a familiar truck, determined to bury it where no one would ever find it. Even before Shoupe asked his question, that was all you could see.

…and yet, when he asked if you knew of anyone who’d want to hurt you and your friends, you still told him no.

That was two weeks ago, and now you were back in the woods…in a familiar spot…hoping to dig up a familiar face.

“This is insane, you know that, right?” Sarah spat, huffing as she stabbed at the dirt again.

“Look around!” Kie yelled, her voice bouncing off of the trees. “Three of our friends are dead! They’re dead, and you know what? When the cops asked if I knew of anyone who’d want to hurt them, I almost told them Rafe.”

You and Sarah paused at that, staring at her.

“Can you believe that? That sounds crazy, right because Rafe is dead, and..” she threw her arm up. “I would know!”

She was breathing hard, fighting to keep it together.

“…but Cleo was pushed. We all know that she didn’t fall. She was pushed, shoved, thrown, however you want to call it! Her neck was broken…and you all can say that it happened when she hit the ground, but I just don’t believe that.”

“Unless you’re saying one of us did it…” Sarah shrugged. “Someone would have to know the alarm code to not only turn it off, open the window, and toss her out…but also turn it back on as soon as they did it.”

“Sound like anyone we know?” Kie sarcastically wondered, pointedly looking at the ground beneath them.

There was a brief pause between you three as the horrifying possibility set in. Sarah was right. The requirements to pull something like that off fell to any of you, and you knew for a fact that none of you would ever, and so that was where Kie’s suspicions came in. Determined to face the truth one way or another, you continued to dig.

It felt so silly, attempting to dig up a man you’d most assuredly killed. You still had nightmares some nights about the feel of Rafe wrapping both hands around your neck, squeezing so tight that you were sure your neck would snap at any moment. Even when Sarah and Cleo had walked in, shocked and horrified at the sight before them, he hadn’t stopped.

He’d only been focused on killing you.

As you dug, you could remember their screams and the sound of them hitting him and trying to get him off. Nothing had worked, even when Kie came in, attempting to jump on his back. You didn’t know if it was the coke or alcohol that night that made him so determined to kill you regardless of witnesses. Either way, for your sake, you needed Rafe to be in this grave.

You could handle a lot of things, but you couldn’t handle Rafe still being out there.

“I don’t think we have the right spot,” Kie finally said after some time.

You yourself had briefly thought the same, but you remembered that night like the back of your hand. This was the right spot, and the longer you kept being greeted with dirt and more dirt, you could feel an internal panic setting in. Sarah stopped digging after Kie, but you kept going. You had to…because he had to be here.

“Y/N…”

“He’s here,” you breathed. “He has to be.”

Right now, there was only the sound of you frantically digging, and you hadn’t even realized you’d started crying until a sob bubbled up in your chest. You could hear Sarah calling your name again, but you paid her no mind, tossing the shovel aside and falling to your knees. You clawed at the dirt, looking for any sign of bone or clothing or even the damn rug!

“Y/N-,”

“No,” you screamed, throat hurting. “He has to be here, he has to be here.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, nails chipping and breaking as they only came in contact with dirt and sticks and rocks. Hitting your fist against the ground, you screamed again, this one dying into a fit of sobs. You felt Kie’s hands on your shoulders, and you struggled to breathe.

“This can’t be happening,” you heard Sarah breathe.

You pressed your face into your dirty hands, inconsolable as you were forced to face the truth.

“This doesn’t mean he’s alive,” Kie whispered. “Someone…someone else could know. I don’t know how, but it could be anyone else doing this, somebody who dug him up and is messing with us.”

“Or it could be Rafe!”

Your vision was blurry as you looked at her.

“It could be Rafe who wasn’t actually dead when we buried him. It could be Rafe killing my friends and torturing me and coming back to finish what he started!”

You pressed your forehead against the dirt, hunched over as the most awful wailing noise left you. You felt insane, like nothing in the world made sense, and you could hardly stand when Kie pulled you to your feet. If Rafe was still alive…your life as you knew it was over. You struggled to walk as Sarah put the shovels in the trunk, and when she closed it, she just stood there, hand pressed to the top with the other on her hip.

“So, what do we do? Do we go to the police and tell them that Rafe is doing this?”

“…and when they ask why?” Kie wondered, holding you upright. “What do we say? Y/N didn’t want to be with him anymore, so he ran off and came back a year later to kill her and her friends?”

You completely sank against the car, forehead pressed to the vehicle.

“…or better yet, what happens when we tell them we think Rafe is behind this only for his body to turn up? If everyone isn’t suspicious of us now—and they’re pretty fucking suspicious—they’ll definitely be then.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled after some time, continuing when you felt their gazes on you. “I’m so  sorry.”

“What-?”

“This is my fault,” you choked out, forcing yourself to straighten. “I should’ve left him the first time he hurt me. I should’ve…should’ve told someone, I should have called the police.”

“Y/N, this isn’t your fault,” Sarah argued.

“Yes, it is,” you cried, attempting to wipe your face and only succeeding in putting more dirt on it. “You hit him to get him off of me, but… I didn’t have to hit him again. I didn’t have to do that. He was already passing out, and I could’ve just called the cops and-.”

“…and deal with Rafe again when he was inevitably released?” Kie threw out. “Look, Sarah, your family is okay and all, but let’s face it. Rafe would not have stayed in jail long, if at all with Ward backing him up with his money.”

Neither of you argued against that, and your gaze found the ground.

“We need to get back,” Sarah said in a small voice. “It’s way past curfew, and if someone catches us out here, we’ll be even bigger suspects than we already are.”

Sarah was right, and when it became apparent that you needed help moving your feet, she guided you to the passenger side. Kie settled in the backseat, and all of you were quiet, minds no doubt occupied with the possibilities of what tonight meant. Either Rafe wasn’t dead…or someone knew what you did and was getting even on his behalf.

When Sarah turned the car on, the lights shined into the trees before you. You lifted your head, gaze landing in front of the car, and your lips parted. You blinked at the trees, eyes narrowing when Sarah turned on her brights, putting the car in reverse. There’d been a split moment when Sarah’s lights came on—and your gaze wasn’t lifted all the way—that you thought you saw something next to one of the trees.

It looked like a person, standing and watching, but they were gone so quickly that you knew you had to have imagined it. The discovery of Rafe’s empty grave was getting to you, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. It seemed farfetched that Rafe hadn’t actually been dead that night. Murder weapons and such aside, you’d buried him, and how likely was it that he’d woken up to claw his way out instead of simply suffocating and bleeding to death?

It made more sense that this was someone else’s doing, but even still…

Despite burying him yourself, you never felt like Rafe was truly gone.

With three of your friends dead, the remaining four of you were not only being watched like hawks, but also refused to barely leave each other’s sides. Despite the fact that the police still couldn’t determine if Cleo’s death was murder or an accident, the popular opinion seemed to be the former. Walking through Outer Banks as everyone’s main suspect made a place that used to feel like home unbearable.

Deep down though, some part of you felt you deserved it.

Yes, Rafe was abusive and horrible, but it wasn’t up to you to play God. It wasn’t your place to determine whether or not he deserved to live, deserved to see his family again or redeem himself or go on to be even worse. That wasn’t your call, and despite how much relief you felt when you buried Rafe that night, something in you wanted to be punished for what you’d done.

…but not like this.

You never wanted this to come back on your friends and their family. Looking in the faces of their parents and now knowing this was all directly because of you was heartbreaking. Even if it wasn’t Rafe stalking the streets of Outer Banks and picking your friends off one by one, it was clearly someone doing so for him in some weird way. This all came back to Rafe, you just knew it.

…and they were trying to mess with your head in the process.

What else would they get out of moving his remains?

Considering what happened at Sarah’s house, it came as no surprise that the next spot of choice was Kie’s. It wasn’t without difficulty, and you recalled the way both of her parents huffed and puffed as she fought to convince them. You didn’t disagree with their reasoning. After all, you didn’t need to be a genius to know they were wary of you on some level. Too many people around you had died and gone missing.

They just didn’t want the same for Kie…and you wished you’d listened.

“We could leave,” JJ said to you in one of the Carrera’s guest rooms, hand clasped with yours. “I didn’t really want to believe it before but…”

JJ heaved a sigh.

“Someone’s after us for some reason,” he relented. “…and since we have no idea who or even why… Why not just take off?”

He shrugged at you, and guilt ate at you for a whole other reason these days. After Cleo’s death—and the traumatic night in which you discovered Rafe’s grave was empty—you grappled with the thought of telling JJ the truth. He deserved to know why his friends were dead, and why he had a target on his back. You even started to one day.

…but then you thought about him knowing this was all your fault…and blaming you too. You didn’t think you had the stomach or the strength to look him in the face and tell him that your actions that night came back on half of your friends. You didn’t want to face his reaction, and so you swallowed it down.

“I would if I could,” you told him. “…but aside from just how fucking guilty that would make me and us look…my parents are here. Even if they weren’t and we left, I don’t think that would make this stop. Sarah’s here, Kie is here, and whoever is doing this clearly wants all of our heads. They’re not going to give up just because some of us leave.”

You couldn’t stomach the thought of just taking off and leaving Kie and Sarah to fend for themselves. JJ nodded at that, understanding, and you closed your eyes when he reached for your face. You placed your own hand over his, and something clenched deep in your chest. It was so unfair that the moment you and JJ finally decided to stop being cowards, someone put a bounty on your heads.

Even if you made it out of this alive, how could you ever look back on the beginning of your relationship with anything other than grief and trauma? The two of you got together because of John B.’s death and any attempt to try and heal and make something good of this was ruined by the subsequent deaths of Pope and Cleo.

“Do you think this has something to do with Rafe?”

JJ’s question gave you pause, and you pulled back, staring at him with a frown. His expression was entirely serious, telling you that you had not in fact imagined his words. When you blinked at him, you watched him run his hand through his blond locks, the fair hair still damp from his shower.

“I know you killed him,” he confessed.

Your lips parted in shock, and you fought to make sense of what was happening. Disbelieving, you pushed yourself to your feet, looking down at your boyfriend. His gaze was soft, and you watched him exhale, slowly reaching for you.

“Wha…? What do you mean you know? What are-?”

“I overheard you guys talking about it…what…? Maybe three months after it happened?”

You looked away, slowly shaking your head. When you looked at him, there was no malice or disgust in his gaze, and you felt confused.

“I never said anything because I figured you wouldn’t like anyone else knowing,” he whispered.

JJ didn’t look bothered at all, and for some reason that threw you for a loop. Once his hand was back in yours, he tugged you until you sat down with him again. He took your moment of shock to lean in and kiss you—slow and gentle, and his thumb brushed your skin as he pulled away.

“I know what you’re thinking…”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone,” you wondered, more of a statement, voicing your thoughts and confirming his assumption.

“…because Rafe was horrible to you, and not in that generic asshole boyfriend way, but…really horrible,” he told you. “The way he talked to you and treated you in public was disguising to witness, so it wasn’t hard to guess how much worse he was behind closed doors.”

You felt yourself deflating, hating that JJ had to come to grips with that terrifying truth.

“You don’t know how bad I hated him for treating you like that, how much I wanted to beg you to leave him, but you wouldn’t,” he spat, anger in his voice as he thought about the past. “You wouldn’t even come to any of us, and I just thought it wasn’t my place.”

You hadn’t realized how much of your tumultuous relationship with Rafe had been bleeding into other parts of your life almost since the beginning.

“I started to lose my mind over it, you know…just wondering if I was bad for not telling or bad for thinking about telling, but…”

He let out a humorless chuckle, pulling his lip between his teeth.

“Plenty of times I thought about killing Rafe myself, so why would I hate you for having the balls to do what I could only fantasize about?”

You held JJ’s gaze, feeling shocked but also oh so light. You felt relieved that JJ knew, and you’d no longer have to carry around this guilt, but at the same time… You hated that JJ had been carrying this around for months—almost a year. Unlike you and the girls, JJ didn’t have anyone to talk to about this, forced to carry the burden of your secret alone…and you hated that. You hated yourself for that.

Your eyes burned with tears, and you just pressed your lips to his when a blood-curdling scream made you wince.

You and JJ looked at each other for half a second before he hurried out of the room with you right behind him. The screams didn’t stop, echoing throughout the house and mixing in with harsh sobs. There was a knot twisting in your gut, a feeling of dread washing over you like a cold shower. You and JJ took the stairs almost two at a time, and when you both made it to the living room, you paused in your tracks.

Kie had her hands over her mouth, but it was useless—she couldn’t stop screaming and crying. Sarah stood by the couch, frozen in shock, and you didn’t miss what her wide and stricken eyes were focused on. Mr. and Mrs. Carrera were sitting on the couch, facing the blasting TV as they had been for God knows how long. However, something about their posture was off, and when you slowly brushed by JJ to join Sarah…you realized why.

Blood covered the entire front of them both, eyes open and unseeing, mouths open in mid-scream.

Their throats were slit.

Before the horror of what this meant could even settle in, the power in the house went out, bathing you in darkness. The lights from the neighbors and the street were not enough, and you heard Sarah telling Kie to get up. JJ’s hand was on your arm as he pulled you along too, all four of you heading for the door.

Sarah only just opened it when you heard her let out a choked gasp.

She was still, and you worriedly eyed her.

“Sarah?” JJ called her name. “Sarah, what’s…?”

He trailed off, his words dying in the air as Sarah stumbled back. She fell against Kie, and the other girl fought to catch her as the blonde reached up towards her chest. With what little light you had, your eyes focused on what she was gesturing to. Your entire vision swayed once you saw the knife protruding from it.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, and JJ yanked you back away from the door.

You in turn yanked Kie who was forced to let Sarah go. The sound of her body dropping made you wince. Unable to stay with her, the three of you now headed towards the back door. Behind you, you could hear the front door slamming shut, and the sound of it had bile rising in your throat.

The house was still dark, and besides your own heavy breathing, you heard the sound of footsteps coming from the living room. You were the first to make it to the door, hand on the knob when you heard the last thing you ever expected for some reason. The glass in front of you shattered, but your ears were ringing from the gunshot more than anything.

“Fuck,” you heard JJ curse, and you felt him wrap his arms around you, pulling you to the side.

You didn’t realize why until you looked back.

Kie was in a heap at the foot of the door, her blood decorating the remaining glass in the window and the floor too. She was completely still, and the knowledge that two more of your friends were dead within just minutes of each other had you ready to faint. Despite that, with JJ’s help, you were able to keep your feet moving.

He pulled you into the hallway that connected to the kitchen, and on the other side of the wall, you could hear the slow and heavy footsteps. When the crunch of glass was heard, JJ pulled you further along towards the kitchen—towards the front of the house. You were shaking as you slid along the wall, and when the footsteps stopped, so did JJ.

You both were completely still as you waited and listened. Both of your phones were upstairs in the guest room, but you recalled Sarah reaching for hers when she opened the door. It had to still be near her, provided that whoever was in the house hadn’t taken it. JJ seemed to have the same idea as you, because he slowly moved through the kitchen and towards the front door.

A gunshot stopped his efforts.

“Go, go,” JJ hissed, pushing you away from him so harshly that you stumbled and fell back.

You were half in the kitchen half in the hallway when a figure approached the blond who was now also on the floor, clutching his side. You frantically crawled back, vision blurring from your tears just as they stood over him. Your back was pressed to the wall, staring at the one before you with quiet sobs when you heard it.

JJ’s gasps were loud and pained as he was attacked. One, two…seventeen, you counted. You thought to yourself how angry and evil someone has to be to stab someone else seventeen times. You kept your hand pressed to your mouth the entire time, fighting the urge to be sick. When you could no longer hear JJ, you squeezed your eyes shut.

A defeated feeling washed over you, and it was the feeling of being utterly alone.

You could hear those terrifying footsteps again, and when it sounded like they were coming near you from the other side, you sprinted for the door.

Refusing to look at the bodies of your friends, you fought to run across the street. The neighbor’s lights were on, and your legs burned as you pushed yourself as fast as you could. You refused to look back—too scared to—and you practically collapsed at their door as you banged on it. Some of Kie’s blood was on you, and it marred the door as you repeatedly hit it like a woman possessed.

“Open the door, please, please,” you screamed, looking over your shoulder.

You couldn’t see anyone, but you weren’t fooled. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping you from completely collapsing on this stranger’s porch. You were beating their door so hard that your fists were beginning to ache, and your throat scratched from your screams—strained and raw. When the door finally swung open, you quite literally fell inside.

“What in the world-? Oh my goodness,” a small voice said from over you.

Small and brittle hands helped you to your feet, and you felt bad at almost knocking her over in your efforts to make sure no one was behind you. You slammed the door shut and locked it, chest heaving and feeling much too tight. You were sure that you were almost on the verge of a heart attack. You had to be.

“Sweetheart,” the old lady called. “Call the police!”

She took your hands, guiding you to the kitchen where she grabbed a rag.

“He killed them,” you sobbed, struggling to breathe. “My friends are dead.”

The words didn’t even sound real to you, like some nightmare you’d conjured up, but they were real. Your friends had been picked off one by one for weeks before the rest were finally taken from you in one night. You were alone, and that fact made you cry harder.

“The phone’s not working,” you heard another aged voice say.

You froze at that, looking up just as the woman wobbled to the kitchen entrance.

“What?” you breathed.

“What do you mean it’s not working?” she tutted, and you were quick to follow behind her.

She met up with a man who you assumed was her husband in the hallway, and he did a double take at the sight of you.

“Good lord,” he breathed. “What happened?”

“Never mind that,” she dismissed him, making her way past him. “My granddaughter bought me one of those smart phones, but I hardly ever use the thing. We’ll find that and then we’ll call the police, sweetheart.”

You didn’t want to let her out of your sight, terrified of being alone, but the elderly man reminded you of his presence. He guided you back into the kitchen with a strained but kind smile. You could tell that your presence worried him. You were in his house in the middle of the night covered in blood, after all.

“Thank you,” you managed to mumble when he handed you the damp rag.

The feel of Kie’s blood on you was both comforting and horrifying. Your friend wasn’t with you, but this small part of her was, but at the same time, it only reminded you of her gruesome and tragic death. The woman came back through the hallway, joining her husband in the living room, and you heard her mumbling something about hoping the cops would come quick when there was a knock on the door.

The sound of it made your stomach drop, and you stood in the kitchen, rag tight in your hand. What were the chances they’d be getting some friendly visit at this time of night? Right after all your friends were brutally murdered, and you were forced to seek refuge at this very house?

You’d only taken one step forward when you heard the door open, followed by a startled gasp. It happened quick, too quick for you to even process, and it wasn’t long before you could hear the woman’s husband yelping too, a loud thud reaching your ears. Before today, you didn’t know what it sounded like to stab someone or cut their throat. You stumbled back, eyes wide and heart so loud in your ears that it was all you could hear for a moment.

You felt so cold, and you had the shivers to prove it, and slowly but surely…you reached for the knife in the sink.

The house was so quiet, and you didn’t hear a single breath or footstep. Taking a hesitant step forward, you held the knife out in front of you, briefly squeezing your eyes shut. Stepping into the living room, you weren’t surprised to see the bodies of the poor couple who’d just tried to help you. Blood stretched from beneath them like a stream. You pressed your free hand to your mouth, swallowing down a sob.

You were surprised, however, to see an empty living room.

Your brain was completely empty, feeling like you were short-circuiting. You were being toyed with, that much was obvious, and your lips trembled as you slowly spun, fighting to see any sign of your tormentor. Slowly kneeling, you looked for the woman’s cellphone, and you had to swallow down a curse when you realized it was gone.

You stood in the living room, feeling like you were losing your mind with no idea of what to do next. You could run back across the street to Kie’s where you knew a phone was…or you could try another neighbor. A last resort of an option flitted through your mind, anger briefly filling you as you considered simply killing the person who did this.

The front porch creaked, and your gaze zeroed in on the door.

Backing up, you moved further into the house and further away from the door. You glanced over your shoulder, arm grazing the wall as you hid in the hallway. You could hear the door opening just as you disappeared around the corner, and as you slowly and quietly moved about the back of the house, you wanted to cry with the realization that they had no back door.

The house was so modest and quaint that you hadn’t even considered that possibility.

Tears of frustration and fear skipped down your face just as the upbeat tune of a whistle reached your ears. You didn’t know why, but something about it made you so angry. You were being played with, like a damn mouse in the grasp of some cat. How this person could snuff out life like it was nothing and be so giddy about it, you didn’t know. It disgusted you.

…and so the knife was tight in your hand as you stomped back towards the living room.

There was no doubt in your mind that you were going to die tonight, and you’d rather it be fighting and on your terms. The lifeless faces of your friends were all that plagued your thoughts, one after the other being taken from you so easily. As if they were nothing. You thought you were prepared for the person you’d grown to hate most in the world.

…but you weren’t prepared for the sight of Barry sprawled along the couch without a care in the world.

You actually came up short, stopping in your tracks in both shock and disbelief. You felt your lips part, and your hold on the knife wasn’t so firm, now, almost dropping it. A myriad of emotions hit you at once, none of them good, but the loudest and most prominent was…confusion.

You barely knew Barry, really only in passing. The only time you ever saw him was when you happened to be in Rafe’s truck when he needed to make some exchange, the dark-haired man always giving you a mockingly prissy wave. You never talked to him outside of pleasantries, and quite frankly you hated being around him. Somehow, he always managed to bring out the worst in Rafe, egging on any of Rafe’s disgusting behaviors.

He never called you by your name, it was always—

“Mrs. Country Club,” he drawled, that familiar cheeky half grin on his lips.

The gold in his mouth winked at you as you just stood there, and your stomach turned.

“Barry?” you breathed, and he simply raised his hands as if to say ‘the one and only’. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He raised his brows at that, pursing his lips together to fight off a smirk. You looked around, trying to make sense of this before taking a shaky breath.

“Why?” you spat, gaze meeting his unreadable one. “I don’t understand…”

Your words died in your throat, getting choked up.

“Why?”

He played with his hair, a look of confusion on his face.

“Why what…?”

“You’re not funny,” you sneered. “You’re not. Why? Why? Why?”

You screamed the last one, face wet with tears, and all the while he simply…smirked at you.

“How about this… I’ll answer yours if you answer mine,” he proposed, gesturing between you. “Did you feel bad when you dumped your boyfriend in the woods?”

His question made so much click, and you sighed, eyes briefly closing.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Somehow, someway, Topper and Kelce were like brothers to Rafe despite their differences, but Barry? You always hated how your ex-boyfriend managed to find a camaraderie in the dangerous drug dealer, both of them cut from the same psycho cloth. Only Barry could never go to the lengths Rafe did. At least, that was what you always thought…

The laugh that left you seemed to surprise both of you, and he blinked, brows raising again as he just…looked at you.

“That’s what this is about?” you breathed, voice shaking from anger and grief and disgust. “Revenge because I killed your bestie?”

Your tone was mocking, and all the while, Barry just stared at you.

“I guess psycho little rich boys must be hard to come by,” you spat. “Forgive me. Had I known you were going to take it so hard, I would’ve tried to make it look like some tragic accident instead.”

Again, he said nothing at all, and you recalled he’d asked you a question.

“…but to answer your question, no. I didn’t.”

The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly at that, smirk growing.

“Rafe treated me like his property, like he could do whatever he wanted to me…and best believe…he took full advantage,” you forced out. “That night it was him or me…and I chose me.”

The other man jutted his lip out a bit, nodding in a way that suggested he was almost impressed. You looked at the bodies of the poor couple who’d gotten caught up in your shit, and you wiped your face, more tears spilling over. You adjusted the knife in your hand, staring him down.

“So, are you going to try and kill me or what?”

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at you.

“That’s what this whole thing has been about, right?” you threw your arms up. “Tormenting me, driving me crazy, taking my friends from me and saving me for last so I knew what was coming, right?”

His silence actually angered you, now, and you roughly exhaled through your nose.

“What are you waiting for?” you brokenly questioned, startled by the sound of his chuckle.

It was genuine.

“I am offended,” he laughed, hands grazing his chest as he sat up straight. “Do I seem like a bloodthirsty murderer to you? Come on, now, Mrs. Country Club. You know that’s not my style.”

His words confused you.

“Truthfully,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees, a half-smile on his lips. “I’m just here for the show.”

You were so startled by the tight grip on your wrist that you dropped the knife, your lifeline clattering to the floor with a loud clang. Another knife—a bigger one—was at your throat, and you sharply inhaled at the feel of cool metal to your skin. In your attempt to get away from the blade, you pressed yourself further into the chest at your back. His hand on your wrist briefly tightened, so bad that you cried out in pain, but the tears that poured over had nothing to do with that.

You heard his deep breaths, and it wasn’t because his lips were at your ear, but because you’d stopped breathing. You couldn’t feel your heart, an icy emptiness in your chest where it was supposed to be, and the noise that finally left your lips was a cross between a gasp and a cry. The knife at your throat pressed harder into your skin, feeling a slight sting there, but it was nothing in comparison to the feel of his face pressing into the area where your neck and shoulder met.

He deeply inhaled, and a shudder passed through you.

“Word of advice…”

You closed your eyes at the sound of his voice, hoping for anything other than what you accepted as the truth.

“…if you’re going to bury someone,” his lips were at your ear again, and his tone was chilling. “Make sure they’re actually dead.”

A sob finally escaped, and your tearful eyes rested on the ceiling.

“Unlike you, I don’t make that mistake.”

Revulsion filled you, and you were certain that now you really were going to be sick.

“When I set out to kill someone, I get the job done,” he purred, a kiss to your neck. “…but you know that better than anyone, baby.”

You couldn’t even describe the feeling of being in Rafe’s arms again. There was too much going on within you to pinpoint one feeling, but above all else, you knew that you felt fear. Not once had you ever been able to actually heal from Rafe’s abuse. He was the thing you feared most in the world…and then you killed him.

That wasn’t healing.

That was just getting rid of the problem, but the fear and inferiority complex and damage still remained. You were happier with him gone, and you’d mistakenly took that for healing, but now that he was back… Now that Rafe was alive and well and a thousand times worse than you knew him to be, all of that came back, and you couldn’t stop crying.

“What? Nothing to say for yourself?”

It was so hard to breathe, and you couldn’t answer Rafe’s question even if you wanted to.

“Nothing to say about how you hit me upside the head and buried me in the woods like a fucking dog?”

He shook you as he said this, and you cried out. Evidently, that made him angrier, and you soon found yourself thrown to the floor. Your legs landed in blood, and your attempt to crawl away was halted by Rafe’s hand in your hair. He yanked you back until you were on your knees, and when you reached up, his other hand had the knife at your throat.

“Oh, wait, that’s right. What was it you said? It came down to you…or me…?” he chuckled, purposefully nicking your neck. “…and you chose you…right?”

He shoved you again, and you struggled to get to the wall, leaning against it and finally facing him.

It actually hurt you to see that he was just as beautiful as the day you buried him. Of course, he was sober, now, but what did that count for when he also had half a dozen literal bodies under his belt now? Blood stained his shirt, so much of it, and you wondered how much of it belonged to your friends. Your lips trembled as he pushed his hair out of his face, his other hand still holding the bloody knife.

“Sorry about your boyfriend,” he suddenly said although he didn’t sound sorry, at all.

Your face crumbled, and he chuckled.

“It wasn’t my intention for him to go like that, but…” he wiped blood off of his forehead. “I couldn’t quite get the image of him on top of you out of my head.”

Your eyes widened at his words, staring at him in shock as you recalled the day you told yourself you were imagining things.

“Truthfully, Sarah was supposed to be last,” he casually said, and you pressed your hand to your mouth. “My own fucking sister.”

He scoffed, and something passed through his gaze that told you he was genuinely hurt about Sarah’s so-called betrayal. His blue eyes rested on you, and you were suddenly thinking about the last time you stared into them…when he had his hands around your throat, choking the life out of you. Rafe seemed to be thinking about that night too, and you watched his gaze briefly fall to the floor, sniffing.

“I gotta admit,” he murmured. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He looked into your eyes again, and you realized that you hadn’t stopped crying once since he revealed himself to you. Your gaze briefly landed on Barry who was still on the couch, watching the whole ordeal like this was some tv show instead of real fucking life.

“Rafe…” you choked out.

“…but I can promise you,” the blond sneered, pointing the knife at you. “I won’t be making that mistake again.”

You closed your eyes, fresh tears falling, and you struggled to swallow.

“Just get it over with already,” you breathed, so tired and…defeated. “Just kill me.”

When you opened your eyes, Rafe looked genuinely amused at the words that left your mouth. You weren’t surprised when he chuckled, and he glanced over his shoulder at Barry, still laughing.

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Your confusion must have been evident because he laughed again. Rafe stepped towards you until your eyes were level with his crotch, and you hated the way he looked down at you, like you were this helpless and hapless thing that he was just going to have so much fun with. When he slowly knelt before you, you flinched as he lifted his hand, the end of the knife lightly grazing your cheek before it trailed down your neck. Rafe’s blue gaze followed the descent, tongue darting out between his lips.

“Why would I do a silly thing like that?”

His almost inaudible words were loud and clear to you though, and you felt like you’d been shot.

“I won’t lie,” he said, staring at your collarbone. “I thought about. It was the first thing on my mind when Barry pulled me out of that grave you put me in.”

You swallowed when his gaze snapped to yours.

“I wanted to gut you like those fish my dad are always reeling in,” he spat. “I wanted to cut you open.”

You shook your head, letting it fall as you cried.

“…but this seemed soo much better,” he breathed, voice shaky, and you knew it wasn’t from fear nor anger.

Rafe was excited.

“…because you know what’s so much better than murdering all of your friends and forcing you to live with the fact that their deaths are on your hands? Hmm?”

He reached up, lightly grazing your lips with his fingers.

“Do you know what’s better than that?”

His hand tightened around your chin, and knowing him like the back of your hand, you knew he actually wanted an answer.

“No,” you muttered.

Rafe leaned in, brushing his lips against your cheek in a gentle kiss as he whispered his response.

“Having you all to myself.”

You didn’t have time to resist before Rafe was yanking you up by your hair, quite literally dragging you through this stranger’s house. Your feet tripped over one another, and several times you almost fell. Rafe finally wrapped an arm around your neck, keeping you in a chokehold as he forced you down the hall. The moment you tried to scream, his hand was there, forcing it down, and when he tossed you into the bedroom, your forehead hit the leg of the bed.

You heard him whistle.

“The old geezers have taste,” he praised. “…bet this is where that granddaughter of theirs sleeps when she comes to visit.”

You were a sobbing mess, just barely pushing yourself to your knees when Rafe tackled you onto your back. Not unfamiliar with this predicament, you fought against him, hitting him and scratching at his face. Any resistance was met with a genuine laugh, and when Rafe had both of your wrists pinned down beside your head, he tilted his own at you.

“You already killed me, baby,” he breathed. “What more could you do to me?”

The scream you let out was filled with equal pain and frustration, kicking out when he sank his teeth into your chest. It was done with the full intent to hurt, and he succeeded, pain blooming beneath your skin as he tore at your shirt.

Becoming reacquainted with his knife, you tried to scoot back as he sliced through your pants with it, pulling the jeans off of you in tatters. Fearful of the weapon in his hand, you tried to push at his arm, but when his free hand wrapped around your throat, effectively pinning you down, the knife found its way to your stomach.

You breath hitched as you froze.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” Rafe hummed. “I might just…slip.”

You yelped at the sharp feeling along your stomach, and the burn you felt told you there was a cut there. He didn’t let go of the knife as he undressed himself with his other hand, and when he reached for your bra, the blade was pressed to your throat the entire time. You couldn’t stop shaking even if you wanted to, and Rafe made a show of taking his time as he settled between your legs.

“I hope you know how much planning went into this…”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“…and I hope you know that this was all that kept me going.”

When he pushed into you, you gasped in both pain and shock. You hadn’t been with Rafe—with anyone—in a year, and you struggled to adjust. Fresh tears escaped, and when Rafe’s bloody hand gripped your jaw, he turned your head to meet him in a kiss. It was gentle, nothing at all like the rough thrusts he started to give you.

Your back rubbed against the floor as he fucked you, and your crying was drowned out by the sound of his deep moans. Rafe sounded like he was in heaven while you felt like you were in hell. The feel of his cock pushing into you made your mind shrivel with disgust, but your body responded exactly how he wanted.

“I missed you,” he moaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

You sobbed louder, hating the way his thrusts became smoother, now. Your body greedily sucked him in with every push of his hips, and as his hands ran over you, all you could think about were these same hands killing your friends. These same hands that had done so much damage to your life even before that fateful night last year.

With a tug on the hair at the nape of your neck, Rafe forced your head back, and he took his time grazing his teeth along your skin. You could still feel the cool blade of the knife on your skin whenever he moved his other hand. His hips snapped against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, and it seemed like every nightmare you’d had about Rafe had come true…only multiplied by one hundred.

He pressed a hand into your stomach, holding himself up that way while the other hand pressed the knife to your throat. A fresh bout of sobs escaped, and you swore that Rafe actually smiled. You were proven right when he laughed, a deep and raspy chuckle that made your hair stand on end.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” he breathed. “…being so weak and at the mercy of someone else?”

It was sick how Rafe didn’t seem to realize that you knew this feeling long before today. Countless days filled with fear and yelling and manhandling plagued your mind, and the knowledge that Rafe had no intention of ending your suffering was enough to make you go numb.

As if sensing that, Rafe pressed the blade into your throat.

Your gasped turned into cries as you reached up.

“Uh uh,” he panted. “None of that. You are going to lie here…and you’re going to think about what you did to me.”

You gripped his wrist, eyes pleading. Rafe leaned in, nose pressed to yours with a knife pressed to your throat and a hand pressed to your stomach.

“You’re going to lie here, and take my cock, and thank God that I decided to spare your life.”

A particular hard thrust made you gasp.

“Every day, for as long as you live, I want you to think about your friends and remember that they are dead because of you…”

You closed your eyes, and Rafe dug the knife into your throat.

“Open your fucking eyes,” he breathed, continuing when you obeyed. “They are dead because you failed to kill me, and every time I come inside of you, you should take it with nothing less than gratitude.”

He kissed you then, roughly and lacking of any kind of love. It was purely done for show, to exert his power over you and remind you that you belonged to him. You tried to turn your head, and in doing so, you caught sight of Barry leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched. The sight made you turn your head away, sobbing beneath Rafe.

“…because never forget that I wanted to cut you open,” he whispered in your ear, grinding his hips against yours and forcing a choked moan from your lips. “…but where is the fun in killing you when this is so much better.”

[stayfictionalforever]

let’s make a bet.

ship: Kraven the Hunter x GN reader

word count: 686

rating: SFW

TW/CW: None

summary: you take sergei to a place that you think he’ll love and when he doesn't seemed too amused he comes with up a way to make it more entertaining

“you thought I would like this?” sergei looked around. not only did you think he would like this, you thought he would be ecstatic at the idea of being a place where you could climb all day long.

“you like climbing!” you responded; as long as you knew him the man would climb anything be it a tree, a shelf or a building. “and this is a place where you can do that and i can do it with you but safely.” you knocked on the bright helmet you wore on your head.

sergei let out a laugh. you were relieved that the surprise wasn’t awful and that he was upset by it. “i do like climbing….” you nodded and gestured towards the plastic rock walls. “but i’m used to climbing trees or actual mountains.”

“don’t forget buildings.” you added. the memory of him climbing up your apartment building after you realized you forgot your wallet resurfaced. sergei rolled his eyes when you mentioned it. it was something you brought up often to tease him about. the shock of dating ‘kraven’ or ‘the hunter’ was gone but seeing him use his abilities in mundane situations was always a spectacle for you. “if you don’t want to do this we can leave and do something else.” you grabbed his hand. his hands were never silky smooth but you didn’t need them to be. you just needed to treasure the moments where you and him could be together because you knew it wouldn’t be long until sergei would be gone again.

sergei’s face developed a small smile. “let’s stay. we can climb the fake rocks.” your face beamed with joy. “but let’s make a bet.” bets with sergei were not uncommon. “we’ll race and first one to climb all the walls will decide what to have for dinner.”

you looked at him dumbfounded. he was the greatest hunter around and he wanted to compete with you in a race. sergei grinned proud of himself for coming up with the challenge. “ok we’ll race.” sergei let go of your hand and turned to the nearest rock wall ready to pounce. “but!” he turned back to you to see your conditions of the race. “you have to keep your eyes closed the entire time and I get a five minute headstart.” sergei’s blue eyes stared you down. you felt content with yourself that your conditions seemed to stump sergei for a moment.

“fine, i agree to these terms.” sergei stuck out his hand to shake on it and you took his hand. the stare down would’ve kept going but you broke when you decided to pull sergei in for small kiss.

“my head start counts when i’m actually at the wall!” you pulled away from the kiss and ran towards the nearest rock wall. sergei threw his head back in laughter amused by your running.

☆ later ☆

“it was close.” sergei said as he unclipped the clasp for your helmet. “you got pretty far with your head start.” his statement was true in the five minutes you had you did pretty good for someone who was new to rock climbing. you unclipped the clasp to the harness.

“you freaked people out when you were climbing without any equipment and your eyes closed.”

sergei shook his head. “they were freaked out in the beginning but by the end they were cheering.” he then mimed the people cheering for him by pretending to yell.

“i cheered for you too!” sergei’s expression showed he didn’t fully believe you. “i cheered for you once i realized that you were way ahead of me.” though you lost the experience was fun for you. “i really did think you would enjoy this. thank you for trying it out for me.”

sergei’s victorious glow faded for a moment. “i enjoy every moment with you and i would do try anything for you.”

both of you smiled. “i’ll have that same energy for whatever you decide to have for dinner.” you told him. sergei wrapped his arm around you as you both started walking towards the exit.

☆ end ☆

author's note: my first ever x reader fic!!! I hope you enjoyed it!!!

[oonajaeadira]

That Awoooo Inside You, Pt. 3

Fandom: The Wild Robot / Fink the Fox

Pairing: Fink <3s OFC fox Farrah

Rating: G all the way, don’t worry. This is keeping in the world and disgustingly wholesome. Prolly too clean for tumbles 😆

Warnings: None. It’s for cuteness and for heart.

Summary: After the events of The Wild Robot, a new resident joins the island. She’s a little withdrawn and Fink finds out why. It's not what he expected.

A/N: The end of this chapter was partly inspired by @grogusmum. She knows what she did. And if she doesn't, it's illustrated afterward.

Thank you to everyone who enjoyed my very very fluffy--in all senses of the word--tale. I had to. I just had to.

PART 1, PART 2

“Hey-ey-ey,Greedy!” Fink laughed as he called out to Farrah, her tail and back feet hanging out of the hollow of a dead tree trunk. “Just because I gave you the first turn doesn’t mean you get to eat it all! I want some! My turn! My turn!”

Farrah backed out of the hollow and down the grey stump, honey sticking to her whiskers and snowy ear tips, her front paws covered in the golden goo. “Sorry! I got carried away! I’ve never had anything like it. There’s plenty left…I think…”

Distracted by the remnants on her paws, the white fox began to clean them up, eyes wide, still in awe of the sweetness Fink had introduced her to. It was almost a contest as to what was going to win his attention–the honey hive, or Farrah’s dainty licking–but like any fox, food won out and he was shoulders deep in the tree trunk before his heart had any say in the matter.

Once he was gorged on the stuff, Fink skittered his way out from the hollow and joined Farrah in the grass. It was her turn to wait while he cleaned his own paws, but being familiar with honey, he was far less of a mess than she had been. One, two, licks of his paws and then–

He hadn’t meant to do it, but he was a fox. He did foxy things. And that meant not thinking when it came to food. It wasn’t until Farrah was ducking away from him, putting some distance between them, that he realized what he’d done.

He’d instinctually gone to lick the honey off her ears. 

Now she crouched, cowered, alert, her bright eyes–one light, one dark–wide and peering back at him over her brush of a tail, and he could sense the spring that was building in her legs, her heart running as hard as her feet wanted to–

He was suddenly almost as scared as she was. “Sorry! I just– I only– your ears…” The only thing he could think to do was back up. Sit down. Her eyes were still moons in the white sky of her face.

After a couple of months on the island, she was still skittish, still easy to startle. Fink had done everything to make her feel at home, done everything he could do to show her she was under no threat here. She was quick to play with the raccoons and had even fallen asleep on Thorn’s big fat bear belly once or twice on a chilly evening.

But somehow, Fink still spooked her. Maybe he just saw it more since they spent so much time together. Or maybe he was too quick, too rough. Or maybe….

…maybe she didn’t want him to get close in that way.

He could feel his shoulders hunching, his ears drooping, and with them, he sensed a slackening of Farrah’s tension.

“Sorry, Fink, you just… I…” Stepping slowly, she stopped halfway to him and sat, nervous, avoiding his eye. “Guess I’m just a mess. I didn’t realize I still had hummy on my ears.”

Normally he would have laughed. They would have laughed together. “Honey.”

“Heh. Honey.”  A little breeze shifted the grass and Farrah made an attempt at a playful sneeze, but it was half-hearted. “You can…clean my ears if you want to…”

“It’s okay,” he smiled, just as half-heartedly. “You wanna go down to the shore and take a swim? I don’t want to be sticky all day. Ants.”

“Sure.”

She led the way now, more confident in her path about the island and he followed, although feeling as if he was dragging his heart behind him.

He remembered how much it hurt when Brightbill flew away for the winter, but it was a good hurt, because they would see each other again.

And he remembered how much it hurt when Roz left the island. That one hurt in a different way because he knew he may never see her again, but he had good memories, and he knew that he had friends and a good life because of what she did for them all.

But this was a hurt he didn’t recognize. It was like the hurt he used to feel when nobody wanted him around, the hurt he learned to ignore, the hurt he used in order to become clever and figure out the very best ways to get exactly what he wanted. Similar, but not the same. 

Because that pain was borne out of the rejection of everyone. Like sleeping on a bed of pinecones.

This ache could not be ignored or pushed away.

Being rejected by one special someone in particular, he was learning, was much worse, like sleeping on one particularly spiky pinecone.

With one, big jagged spike.

Pressing right against his heart.

“Look! Your favorite!” Farrah came trotting out of the water to him where he sat on shore, feebly scrubbing his paws in a tidepool, and laid a huge clam at his feet, its bulk almost too big for her smaller jaw. He nodded, but kept scrubbing. A crab scuttled past as a larger wave lazily slapped the rocks behind her, the water dull under a hazy, late spring sky. “Fink?”

The thought just fell out of his mouth. “You really never thought about finding a…a mate?”

Farrah blinked, eyes wide again. This time he could tell it wasn’t with the instinct to flee, but he could hear her heart racing all the same. “I… no. Where I’m from, nobody would take me.”

He wanted to run away, scared of what he was feeling, scared of what he might say, what she might say, what might happen to their friendship, but couldn’t stop himself. “But, you’re not there anymore. You’re here. And things are different here. Everyone’s a little different here and…and…just because you… your…” He couldn’t keep his tail from twitching, his claws making little arpeggios in the sand, his tongue babbling away without him, “I like your fur. It’s not practical but it’s beautiful, it catches the sun. It’s a part of you and I like you so you don’t have to worry about being different or the runt of the litter here. I think it’s a miracle you’ve made it, it means you’ve had to be strong and smart and you’re–”

“My fur?” A tilt of Farrah’s head showed initial confusion. “What’s wrong with my fur?” And then just the hint of her ears leaning back, a paw pushing at the sand as if bracing for a fight, her tail curling around herself again. “Who said I was a runt? I’ll have you know I was the second biggest kit of my litter.”

Now it was Fink’s turn to blink in surprise. “But.. no one said, it’s just… you are on the small side so I just thought you might–”

“Wait. Fink,” she calmed then, a realization breaking over her, her spine straightening, ears perking up. It was one of the rare moments they’d had together where he was able to look her in the eye and she didn’t back down, where suddenly she was allowing him in and he felt suddenly hopeful. Did she just hear what he said? Was she just realizing how he felt? Did she like him too? He swallowed hard, anticipating what she would say next.

It was much different than what he expected.

“Have you…never met a winter fox?”

The words pushed through him, trying to find a place to settle into meaning. “Winter? Fox?”

“Yeah. A snowy fox. Like me.” When he could only stare blankly, she smiled sadly. “Oh, Fink. There are different kinds of foxes where I’m from! I’m a winter fox. We’re all white like this and smaller than the forest foxes. We don’t usually mix with the forest foxes because…” here she looked down at her little white paws making a delicate triangle in the sand, “forrest foxes hunt winter foxes. They’re brutal predators. They..they eat us.”

Whaaaaaat??? “WOWWWUH,” Fink breathed, aghast at this breaking news, happy for her to have escaped that peril. “They sound like huge jerks. You’re better off here without ‘em.”

She lifted her head then and a light huff fell out of her, it was nervous and hesitant, and thinking she was laughing, he was momentarily proud of lightening her mood. Until she said, “Fink…you’re a forest fox.”

There would be few more profound moments in Fink’s life than standing on a shifting shore, learning that he had yet another fate in the world, an alternate place where he could have lived a completely different life, one that could be seen by someone other than himself. 

He sat in shock and looked at her. She was so small, so vulnerable. He himself was half again her size. She was fast, but he was faster and could easily outrun her and catch her if he wanted to. She would often bring him shellfish to open for her and then watch in something like awe as he crushed it easily in his jaws.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t awe. Perhaps it was horror.

He was starting to understand that his heart could break twice in one lifetime. Maybe twice in one day.

He needed time to stand still for a minute so he could gather his thoughts, fix this somehow, assure her that he wasn’t like the foxes she’d known, make her see, he wasn’t like the forest foxes that she’d known, he would never, if only the waves would stop crashing and the geese would stop honking–

Honking! The geese! The geese were returning! Brightbill!

Fink was up and turning on the spot, watching the incoming flock, but also agitated by the interruption, unable to stop himself. “Farrah, I… can you… can you hold that thought? I’m sorry, I just–” And without waiting for her, he ran. 

He couldn’t remember being faster, needing to run faster, faster, his blood rushing in his ears. The flock would land just down the shore near by and he found a spot close enough to the treeline so as not to spook the ones that didn’t know him, but still out on shore enough to be seen. And then he danced. 

He couldn’t help himself. Bounding in a circle, paws tap tapping the wet sand, he yelped like a pup in with its tail caught, and sure enough, an orange-tufted bird broke from the group and came straight for him, dive-bombing him out of the sky, goose and fox colliding in a poof of feathers and fur and rolling and laughter as Brightbill made a triumphant return to the island.

“Hey, buddy! You came back!”

The goose laughed. “It’s spring. Where else would I go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You could fly anywhere. I’m sure there are tons of islands better than this one.”

“Yeah, but none of them have a Fink.”

Fink grinned, the familiar fondness for his friend doing some soothing work on his aching heart. “How was the trip?”

“Long. Who’s that?” Brightbill tipped his beak to the treeline, and Fink followed his gaze to the flash of white ducking behind a tree.

“Oh. She’s new. Farrah! Hey!” he called to her and her little face appeared around the trunk. “Brightbill’s home! Come meet the kid!” Trotting toward them, she looked warily side to side at the arriving population on the shore, and he lowered his voice to give the goose advice he couldn’t yet accept himself, “She washed up half-drowned a couple of months ago. Still kinda shy. Don’t take it personally.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Brightbill turned to the crowd and honked, calling to a large, long-necked and ruffle-feathered gander who was chatting up a gaggle of ladies. The gander immediately turned and closed the distance, winging over to their little family group and settling next to them, much more gently than his mass would have led anyone to suppose. “This is my…ah… my nesting partner, Crusher.”

“Fink, yes?” Crusher honked, husky and low. “Charmed.”

“He’s joining us from another flock this year.”

Crusher chuckled and ribbed Brighbill. “Might stay forever at this rate.”

The smaller goose couldn’t help but blush. “You mind if he stays in the hut with me?”

Fink smiled, a rush of happiness for his little fledgling–all grown up–tempered only by the awkwardness every parent feels when they bring their sweetheart to visit. “Absolutely! You can have the best bed in the place.”

“What?” Brightbill flinched. “Your bed? Are you sure you’re Fink?”

Fink shrugged and leveled his shoulders, a smug smile tugging at his mouth. “What can I say? I’m a great guy. Fantastically generous. Full of surprises.”

“That last part’s true for sure.” Brightbill turned to Farrah. “I assume you’re responsible for this show-off’s drastic change in behavior?”

“Hey!” Fink protested, but Farrah laughed her wondrous, loud laugh and introductions and welcomes were made. He watched her as she warmed to his adopted family and before long they were trotting back to the hut, many of their friends there to meet them, having heard the flock arriving from the south.

The rest of the day had a general family reunion atmosphere. Thorn bumbled off into the trees and came back with an entire wild raspberry bush he’d yanked out of the ground, heavy with a spring crop. The raccoons brought up snails from the woods and clams from the beach. Pinktail brought in this season’s club of little rascals who all got a fast and low ride on Crusher’s back over the surrounding treetops. Before long, the fireflies were coming out, lighting up the grasses in the clearing around the hut and Thorn had started a warm fire inside.

It was there that Fink was listening intently to Crusher’s tale of home, the shoreline where he grew up. Since meeting Farrah, Fink had become increasingly interested in learning how different and yet the same so many other places were. It was like he learned something new about the world every day.

Like the fact that there were foxes in the world that were even bigger jerks than he was.

Or than he used to be.

He scanned the hut–quieter now as many of the young animals were nodding off and cuddling with their mamas who in turn were engaged in low, pleasant conversation by the light of the fire. At first he thought Farrah might have left, the crowd too much for her, but then he caught the moonlight glow of her fur through the doorway out in the clearing, Brightbill at her side. They were deep in conversation–Brightbill doing most of the talking and Farrah watching him intently–and Fink felt a little contented spark of loving happiness as he watched them bond.

After a while, Brightbill waddled into the hut toward Fink’s precious, beloved, grassy nest, drowsy and sighing. “It’s been a day. Did you really mean it? Can we bed down here?”

Fink sighed, pulling back the sass he was so accustomed to leaning on, just this once. “Yeah, kid. I mean it. You two have had a long journey. Take a load off. I’m just glad you’re home. You want me to shoo everyone out of here so you can sleep?”

“Nah,” the small goose shook his head, his eye wandering across the line of pictures Roz had created of him not so very long ago. “We’re used to sleeping in a crowd. And it’s nice to hear the voice of friends.”

Once Brightbill and Crusher were comfortable–heads tucked under wings, Crusher’s free wing almost completely covering the smaller goose–Fink wandered out into the clearing where Farrah sat under the stars. She was staring up at the moon as she often did on nights like this, most likely thinking about her family and how no matter the distance between them, they still had the same night sky.

“Mind if I sit?”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn to watch his every move, just kept watching the twinkling of the stars. “Not at all. It’s a nice night. Quiet. Calm.”

Mindful of what he now knew of her past, he kept his distance, but still where she could see him and feel safe just out of reach. Fink looked up to the big, silvery moon, round-faced and kind. It reminded him of a certain robot he once knew.

“He’s a great kid, clever and kind,” she said after a long silence. “You really raised him right.”

Fink scoffed and winked at the moon. “It wasn’t really me who raised him.”

“That’s not how he sees it. He thinks Roz was great, but she couldn’t have done it without you. You’re just as important to him that way. He told me so many stories.”

Digging at a spot in the ground, he did his best not to look too interested. “Yeah? Anything…good?”

She laughed then, softer than usual, but still winning the prize for his very favorite sound in the world. Standing, she came closer and Fink kept still, trying not to breathe too fast as she sat as his side, shoulder to shoulder. She was warm. She smelled like raspberries and snails and something else…something intoxicating. “Well, good enough.”

“So he convinced you I’m not going to eat you.”

“Something like that.”

Ah. He’d have to remember to thank the kid later.

“I’m sorry about earlier, Fink. I didn’t know you didn’t know about–”

“Why do you think nobody would have you?”

Farrah blinked up at him. “What?”

“You said where you were from, nobody would want you. I can’t imagine the kind of idiots you must have grown up around.”

She smiled then, a little sadly, turning her gaze to her paws. “My eyes. Nobody wants a mate with mismatched eyes. They assume I’m blind or can’t see as well as them, that because of it I wouldn’t be able to survive or I’d pass it down to their kits who'd have trouble surviving. It’s not true, but I don’t stand a chance against another vixen with matching eyes. That's nature. I just kind of accepted it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Fink gasped. “Your eyes? But they’re amazing! They’re one of my favorite things about you. They’re–” and then he faltered as she looked up hopefully at him, those bright eyes–one light and one dark–bewitching and so very distinct. And suddenly, all the fear and snark left him as he felt himself turning to pure, dopey goo. “--they’re…beautiful.”

She snuggled into his shoulder then, finally giving in, her tail coming to rest over his, wrapping herself around him. And he marveled at how fast a broken heart can heal up. As if it had never been hurt at all.

Yeah. He was really gonna have to thank that kid.

“I think I’d like to go curl up in bed,” she said, finally breaking free and turning back toward the hut where the warm orange light spilled over the snoring bulk of their bear friend and the nearby soft pile of sleeping geese. “You coming?”

“Ah, I gave my bed to the kids. I’ll probably just sleep in the grass tonight.”

She smiled, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “No you won’t. Not when there’s plenty of room in mine.”

He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep for joy. Not with his kid home again. Not with all of his friends so close by. Not with his nose buried in the fur of Farrah’s shoulder or the curve of her slumbering body curled up around his own. Not with his heart beating as broadly as it was.

But he did. He slept. Soundly. And well.

____

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Fink and Farrah, illustration by @grogusmum

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy had never seen a bicycle before, so he was naturally intrigued when his assistant obtained one and started cycling around the local landscape.

A fluffy bird, of course, does not need a machine to get from one place to another, so when his assistant next set out on her bike, Algy flew along above her, to keep an eye, and to try to observe how the strange contraption worked.

Algy had had no intention of being involved with any kind of machine, but when his assistant paused at a passing place on the road, in order to take some photos, he found that in fact he was consumed with a longing to try it for himself, and so he asked whether he could please try riding the bicycle, believing, like Mulga Bill, that he would "ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight". Posing proudly for the obligatory "first time on a bicycle" photograph, Algy then commenced to set off along the road…

But, just like Mulga Bill, he found that when:

He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray, But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away. It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak, It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.

However, Mulga Bill was of course not a fluffy bird, and there Algy had the advantage, because when the bike ran away with him he simply leaped into the air and flew back to his assistant to apologise.

Retrieving the bike from the bushes, she recited the whole poem for Algy's benefit, and advised him to stick to flying in the future 😀

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze; He turned away the good old horse that served him many days; He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen; He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine; And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride, The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?" "See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea, From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me. I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows, Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows. But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight; Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight. There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel, There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel, But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight: I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight." 'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode, That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road. He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray, But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away. It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak, It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek. It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box: The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks, The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground, As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound. It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree, It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be; And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek. 'Twas Mulga Bill from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore: He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before; I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet, But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet. I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; It's shaken all my nerve To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve. It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still; A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."

[Algy's assistant is reciting the poem Mulga Bill's Bicycle by the late 19th/early 20th century Australian bush poet Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson.]

If you would like to see more photos (without Algy) from Algy's assistant's cycling adventures, please visit her sideblog @photocyclelog

[elltheenergetic]

“I am still in control.”

[OPEN ROLEPLAY

(trigger warning right here because holy shit it is descriptive. gore and some other good stuff. if you got tagged especially fox just know that this is in her dreams and nothing he says is real in this. anyway don’t worry guys she will be A-OKAY AFTER THIS! probably.) @rosedawolf

Ell returned to the forest, her scythe perched against what was left of a tree stump. She exhaustedly picked it up, her fingers tightening around it so it wouldn’t slip out of her grasp.

As she began to make her way back, she began to feel off. Her steps began heavier, more frantic. Her heart pounded against her chest insistently. Where was it. Where was the path? She tried to retrace her steps, but to no avail, no avail at all. I need to get out of here. Even though there was none, she felt a silhouette behind her.

Ellenor’s head began to spin, causing her to loose track of her trail. She began to violently cough, collapsing to the tall grass as blood trickled down her clothing. An aggressive yell echoed through the forest, not realizing it came from her own throat. Ell clenched at her scythe desperately, dragging it towards her side. Fighting to stay awake, she tried to push herself up with her weapon, but accidentally made a clean chop off a part of her horn.

“Fuck!” Her eyes widened in pain, writhing on the ground until she had tired herself out. With the strength she could muster, Ell pushed her back against a tree and began to doze off.

Everything went to black.

@soriyafuq

As Ell blinked her eyes open, there she was. Artemis stood there, that poor smile moments before the incident.

“WAIT!” She had tried to exclaim, but nothing came out of her mouth. The bombs went off, the gasps and screams emerging from the crowd around. Blood splattered around the premises that was once Artemis.

nononononononotagainplease

As the others ran up to the injured goddess, she stood there, frozen, preoccupied in her own horror. Then she sprinted down the steps, eventually tumbling down, the guilt overwhelming her mind.

Why couldn’t I do anything to save her? Why?

Embodying the beauty of fallen dreams.

Her consciousness blinked, again.

This time there was black. All black. Nothingness for miles and eternity.

Ell began to walk forward, still captivated by the relapse of the final trial. She began to lament, before stopping dead in her tracks like a deer in headlights.

Fog scattered around the area, Selene standing in the middle of the madness. Petrified for a moment, Ell then sprinted forward with open arms, wanting to pull her into an embrace. But, no matter how much she ran, she couldn’t reach her. Her sister only seemed to appear farther away each time she got even remotely close.

Once she had finally reached her, pulling her into her arms, she realized that Selene was gone.

She had been gone.

Blinding eyes appears everywhere she looked, staring at her menacingly.

I’m not good enough. I will never be good enough.

Lay your head down to rest.

Ellenor wrapped her arms over her own eyesight, shielding her from the intense stares.

As she slowly removed them, she found herself elsewhere.

@foxthewall

A familiar friend. A feel of safety. She found herself in a coffee shop with Fox Wallis. They sat at a table together. Ellenor examined his friendly demeanor and expression, but something felt off. She took a swig of her coffee and glanced around at the eerily quiet cafe.

“I-… I should go.”

He didn’t respond. He just kept… looking.

Ell pushed herself to her feet, removing eye contact as she edged toward the door.

She paused.

“…Hello? Fox?”

No response.

Just as Ell opened the door, that was when he stood up, slowly inching closer.

He mumbled something she couldn’t quite comprehend:

“Blfi hgfyylim mzgfiv droo gzpv blf mldsviv yfg blfi wvnrhv.”

“What?”

“Gsviv droo yv mlmv gl yoznv yfg blfihvou.”

“I don’t understand.”

She backed up and ran out of the door, leading her back to there.

Ambition. Allow it to lead you foward.

Her tense mind wrapped around the various smiling faces of chattering people. She walked forward in a daze, the target standing out like an eyesore.

“Hello?” She said, that menacing but welcoming expression only serving as a factor to Pheonix’s motive.

She tried to hold back, but the words slipped off her tongue. Phoenix remembered every little detail. “You must be Erica? Erica Wilm?” Her faced flooded with anxiety, eyes darting frantically around. There was no exit. The event was too crowded with people.

“Yes, that’s me.”

Pheonix smirked. “Ah, well, may I ask you to come with me? I’d like to know some more about you. We’ll share a drink. It’s on me.” The target hesitantly agreed, following her steps. The plan should role out perfectly, and, if not, she had other ideas, too. Pheonix brought the two of them to a private table. The event seemed to be serving food and drinks as well.

“So, anything you wanted to speak with me specifically about?”

Pheonix began to fabricate lies on the spot. “Oh, not much.. you are quite the pretentious person. I’m surprised there’s not that many fawning back there.”

“I’m flattered.”

A waiter came nearby, the light illuminating his occupied manners.

“Can I get you anything else?” He asked, his rushed eyes scanning the table for any refills of their waters.

“No, thank you.” Pheonix dissmissively shooed him away, not allowing the target to even make eye contact with him. Her eyes turned to her, “Erica, why don’t you grab us some menus? She nodded with a gentle smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but it was fine. It would be over soon. Meanwhile, she edged over to the target’s side of the table and began to stir the poison in stealthily, quickly rushing back over as she saw her begin to approach. The target passed Pheonix one of the menus. She began to raise her glass of water. “Cheers?”

“Cheers.” The two of their glasses met in a clinking embrace. She took a sip of her water and watched the dehydrated target take a swig of hers.

It wasn’t long before the target began to cough and sputter. “Erica? Are you alright?” She edged forward in her chair, trying to hide the pleasure of success flowing through her mind. She didn’t respond. She kept coughing. Just as her poor body had gone limp, Ellenor heard frightening words emerge from her dying mouth.

“Are you sorry? Will you ever face the consequences?”

And then it was gone.

Ell groggily awoke, blood rushing to her head. She felt a throbbing pain in her chest. Looking down, she had seen the clear stab wound created from her scythe. Ell leaned her head black, slamming it against the oak, grunting. She was too tired to take care of it. Blood pooled in a circle around her. Her eyes burned with a fierce tolerance of her current state. I’m not going to let up.

“Damn it..” she muttered, harshly.

It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps near. She grabbed her scythe, laboriously pulling herself to her feet as her organs churned within her. It was pathetic to be seen like this. She glanced around and hid behind it, her eyes relentlessly scanning the area for passerby’s.

(SORRY IF THAT WAS A LOT TO READ.. HEH. IF YOU READ ALLAT I CONGRATULATE YOU)