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nadjabea · 1 year

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Crowley and Aziraphale never broke up. The conversation we (believe to) see in the end is not the conversation they had.

Aziraphale and Crowley play their own game of spionage and sabotage - and talk about it while we all are watching.

Edit 10/22/23: This analysis needs to be updated because there is more evidence of the body swap and because of that some of my interpretations what they REALLY say is much more precise. Will do it soon.

My point is: Aziraphale communicated a plan in the confession scene – in the subtext. And it culminated in a full body switch.

How? They have thousands of years of practice of talking and signaling their next steps to each other in a way that would not be noticed by any bystander, even less by their respective headoffices. We have seen this in the Job minisode.

They use body language, signs and references to films, songs, everything their head offices won't understand because they lack the earthly knowledge.

Maybe Aziraphale and Crowley even had a back up plan before the Metatron entered the scene. Why I got this notion? Because after their conversation in the bar about Jane Austen, Aziraphale has adapted Crowley’s notion of Austen as a spy and the mastermind behind a bank robbery. Doesn’t this seem odd for the owner of a book shop? (There is this interesting theory of Crowley planning a heist and the turtle neck being Crowley’s “spy dress” by @justhereforthemeta

So here is my analysis/interpretation of the conversation they had.

Note: I am not a native English speaker, I am German. This might of course influence my interpretation of the conversation.

-> After he spoke to the Metatron, Aziraphale comes back to the bookshop and plays happy.

Just as Crowley starts to talk – Aziraphale knows he has to interrupt him.

Aziraphale's hands sign: Stop! First, he tries it soft, watches out of the window to indicate: "We are under supervision!" As Crowley doesnt pick it up, Aziraphale lifts his hands in front of his chest. So they are more visible. Still: Crowley does'nt get it.

Aziraphale: I have some incredibly good news. Uhm The Metatron. I don’t think he is as bad a fellow. Um. I think I might have misjudged him. (Incredibly good news! My ass! Look at my face. Do I look happy? THE METATRON!!! Be aware! He is much worse than I thought!”

While Aziraphae plays the happy and exited angel, he signs "Time out!". His smile is forced. He points into direction of heaven, looks out of the window and hopes Crowley will pick up: "SOS! We need a time out because we have to talk without heaven listening."

But Crowley is like a steam train: He is on his track to confess and does'nt get Aziraphale's distress.

Aziraphale parafrases the talk with the metatron. His body language indicates he is stressed, again and again he turns into the direction of window, his eyes are forced open. Crowley still does'nt get it.

Crowley: He said what?

Aziraphale: He said, I could appoint YOU (tumps to Crowley) to be an angel (it seems that Aziraphale's thumps point to himself). You could come back to heaven and everything. Like in the old times (the old times when we had to pretend to be apart, but in reality worked together and did each other’s work without heaven or hell noticing).

(I don’t think that Aziraphale refers to the pre-fall times because I don’t think Crowley and Aziraphale spent much time together than. Crowley was probably more a loner “minding his own business” or hang out with the wrong group, Lucifer and the gang. Aziraphale would have been much too afraid to spend time around the trouble maker angels.)

Aziraphale: Only even nicer (You know that I know that you hate nice! Come on, get it!)

As Aziraphale gets on with his “excitement” about the new job, Crowley still don’t seem to get the subtext. After Crowley tells him he said no to hell, Aziraphale escalates: He falls back to their "Kayfebe", their way to play that they are along the "party line". (For more on Kayfebe read this post of @nautilicious).

Aziraphae „But heaven. It’s the side of truth, of light, of good.“ Looks obviously into direction of the window as he plays a sharade for the metatron. (Crowley, you know that we settled for shades of grey! Get it, we are under attack! )

Crowley (still doesn’t get it): When heaven ends life here on earth it will be just as dead as if hell ended it. Tell me you said No.

Aziraphael turns his head into the direction of the window to show Crowley they are being observed.

Crowley: Tell me you said no.

Crowley starts to realise that they are in danger but still does not pick up the immediate threat from the Metatron. So he starts his confession but changes it to propose to run away. > You only need to run away if there is someone hunting you. So at least, he gets that now.

During Crowley's statement Aziraphale shakes his head. (we wil not be able to outrun heaven)

Aziraphale: Come with me. (Pause) To heaven. I’ll run it, you will be my second in command. (Crowley, follow my plan: Ill will run this command, you will be my agent in heaven.)

As a non native speaker I looked up the synonyms for “second in command”. They list “substitute”, “replacement” “sub-agent” and “agent”. Agent! Here we are with our spionage story. Jane Austen, the spy, smuggler and mastermind behind a bank robbery.

Crowley: You cant leave this bookshop. (Okay, I get what you mean. But, no, we cant be separeted! you cant leave me on my own - in (an ambessy of) heaven. - Another interpretation: It cant be you who leaves. You have to stay here. )

Aziraphale: Oh, Crowley, nothing lasts forever.

I think this is a code phrase of them. It might refer to a song which was in the charts in 1966/67:

“Nothing last forever” sung by Margaret Whiting, who was already popular in the 1940s.

These are the lyrics:

Now you're down and broken hearted

you have lost your lucky star

You are sure you have no future

You don't know how wrong you are.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever...wait and see.

Now you've lost your only lover

Now your dreams are torn in two

You are sure you'll live in darkness

But the sun's gonna shine for you.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever...wait and see.

Now you've got an inch to go

If you still be a mile

Now the bidder's calling you

Capture this to a smile

Now what seemed eternity

Was the sun in a while.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever...wait and see.

Wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter (fade)

Somehow I can imagine that Crowley liked this song and they listened to it together in the bookshop. So he knows the lyrics - and gets what Aziraphale tries to tell him.

Crowley: No. No. Don’t suppose it does.

He puts on his glasses to hide his tears but also because now he has to pretend. And he has the need to cover his eyes when he lies. You can see this in the 1941 minisode. While he watches Aziraphale perform the coin trick, Crowley led his glasses slide down his nose and you can see his eyes. But the second he starts lying to Aziraphale about him being a professional magician Crowley puts his glasses up und covers his eyes.

So Crowley starts to go along with Aziraphale's plan, plays to be reluctant - which he probably still is. He doesn’t want to go to heaven, considers Aziraphales plan probably to be a - to use the German expression - “Himmelfahrtskommando” which means literally “a squat that goes to heaven = a suicide squat) - Another interpretation: Maybe he doesnt want Aziraphale to go to heaven?

Crowley: Good luck.

Aziraphale: Crowley, come back. Work with me (I have got a plan, trust me and work with me). We can be together. Angels (you can have my body. So you will be an angel.) Doing good (saving earth and us) - I need you. – I don’t think you understand what I am offering you (Are you really that daft?)

Crowley: I understand. And I understand a whole lot better than you do. (Heaven, hell, I have been there. And it is me that has to go to heaven now. And I don’t like it. - And it's you that will go to hell instead of me. And I dont like it either)

Aziraphale: Well, than there is nothing more to say. (If you understand that I am offering you to posses my body, than do it)

Crowley: Do you hear that?

Aziraphale: I don’t hear anything. (Come on!)

Crowley: That’s the point. No nightingales (neither in heaven nor in hell).

“No nightingales” can have several meanings.

a) It's their song. The symbol of their love. There is no love in heaven, nor in hell.

b) The nightingale sings to protect clandestine love. Now they are not any longer under the protection of the night and the nightingale. Their love is laid open and we know what happened to Romeo and Juliet when the nightingale stopped singing.

c) Someone here on tumblr pointed to a novel called “No nightingales”. There is movie from 1947 that is based on this novel. In Wikipedia you can find this synopsis:

“In the 18th Century, Burlap and Kelsoe are officers in the army of Queen Anne who have recently retired and purchased a house on Berkeley Square. At a house-warming party the pair speculate how to win the war however they learn that the Duke of Marlborough has other plans that will lead to the Battle of Malplaquet. Believing the battle will end in slaughter they hatch a plan to capture Marlborough and hold him prisoner until the threat of hostilities passes. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ghosts_of_Berkeley_Square

Problem is: They are not at all competent and get killed bevor they could prevent the war. So they are cursed to be ghosts until a member of the royal family visits their house.

So could they plan the kidnapping of the Metatron or even God herself? Hold that thought! I definitly will think about that as a plot for season 3.

Crowley: You idiot. We could have been US. (Why did you have to get yourself associated with Gabriel? We could have led our own lifes, in our own bodies)

The kiss - and the body swap /posession

It is not a kiss to show they love each other, it is a kiss to mask the body possession, they exchange their essences

@doctorscienceknowsfandom has laid down already a lot of hints and signs Neil Gaiman planted in the open in the meta "Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace with a dash of nutmeg" that Crowley and Aziraphale changed bodies.

@lonicera-caprifoliumhas some more hints.

Here are even more points that indicate: they have changed.

When the kiss ends "Aziraphale" cries und when "Crowley" leaves he touches his lips and his hands are shaking.

Several people already pointed out the face, the movement of the jaw and so on: This is Michael Sheen’s Crowley. I think the shaking and the tears are another hint that this is Crowley. Why? Until now we have only seen the hands of one of them shaking on screen: Crowley’s, in the 1941 minisode. Crowley’s hands are shaking if he is under pressure, and overwhelmed. Aziraphale on the other side seems to get nerves of steal when he has to perform (his tricks only work when it counts).

There are even more hints that they have changed their bodies:

“Crowley” is standing upright at the Bentley. He doesn’t move his body, he doesn’t move his face. Something that is so NOT Crowley, who is always in motion.

Also: Remember the first episode when Crowley and Aziraphale fought over Gabriel. Aziraphale told Crowley that he can leave when he doesn’t want to help and Crowley couldn’t contain his rage about that. He was fuming and throwing lightnings – all visible in the middle of the street, surrounded by humans (!). All because of a fight that – in retrospective – was much less threatening to their relationship and their lives.

In a script there is nothing without meaning. And I can’t discover any other meaning for the scene in which Crowley throws lightnings after a fight with Aziraphale than to show that the scene in the end was not a fight.

Hence: There is no way that the real Crowley would be that calm in the last scene. Crowley has much less control over his emotions than Aziraphale.

And even if it was Crowley at the Bentley and managed calmly to watch Aziraphale leave. He would not be able to contain himself after Aziraphale was in the lift. Once in his car (his save space) he would release his anger and pain. Crying, shouting, maybe even hitting the steering wheel, he would drive away as fast as possible screaming at an invisible Aziraphale because this might give him some relive.

But what do we see? A very contained demon.

Next evidence: The colour code of Aziraphale (yellow) and Crowley (red):

When “Aziraphale” is on screen people wear red. When “Crowley” is on screen a lot of people in yellow pass.

And even the plants in the Bentley appear to have changed to yellow. Bonus: A yellow flower blooms behind “Crowley”. Hence: It has to be Aziraphale.

So: Why would Neil Gaiman use the same trick twice?

Because it isn’t the same trick.

In S1 they changed their appearance. Aziraphale presenting as Crowley is still an angel. Therefore immune against holy water. Crowley presenting as Aziraphale is still a demon, immune against hellfire.

But this time, I think, they really posses the body of the other (wow, they really have come a long way from “What a pity you cant have my body” – “Angel, demon, probably would explode” ).

So, what does this mean? Angel and demons are from the same flock. It is impossible to distinguish them, except for the marks on their bodies. Now Aziraphale is indistinguishable able from the other demons, Crowley indistinguishable from the other angels.

This raises the stakes when it comes to “The Second Coming”.

And this explains Crowleys worried face: He knew about the planes for Armaggedon 2.0,the destruction of earth.

The "Second Coming" is different. It is about judgement.

In the end everyone is going to be judged. The righteous will go to heaven, the other are cast away, extint. So what about an angel in the body of a demon? You see where I am heading ...

There is a lot to explore. The concept of "pretend to be good" and "properly good" and much much more. I will write about it another time.

Now I am curious: Am I delusional? Cant I just cope with the break up? What do think? Tell me you views. Let us discuss.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #good omens analysis #good omens meta #good omens theory #good omens spoilers #good omens theories #good omens season 2 #goodomens #neil gaiman #nothing lasts forever #body switch #body swap #aziracrow #azicrow #antony j crowley #ineffable divorce

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eternalove-a · 7 months

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random notes about gemini venus 🌻💛

attracted to intelligent and quick witted people

they enjoy early stages of relationship - getting to know each other, experiencing things for the first time with that person and even the nervousness

if they love you, your opinion and point of view is really important to them and they take your advices seriously

very attracted to people’s voices

words of affirmation is probably their main love language

quotes, poetry, love letters >>

they actually listen to song’s lyrics

of course physical attraction is important to them but they fall in love with people’s minds, that’s what makes them stay

“the love of my life” - they say about 20 different people

they can be crushing REALLY HARD on someone for a long time and then, out of nowhere, the crush changes into disgust and they’re like “how tf could i ever find them attractive” 🙄🥱

wanting to know everything about their person but at the same time not because they enjoy that ‘mysterious’ side - it keeps them curious

they don’t have a specific type, not really - the people they fall for can be each other’s polar opposites

they value honesty

arguments can turn them on (think the rain scene in pride & prejudice for example)

“the way their voice sounds, or the words they speak, i can never decide what pulls me in more”

keeping their crush a secret is hard, they want to talk about it with someone

crushing on actors, writers, singers, youtubers, twitch streamers etc. is super common

flirty friendship and/or friends to lovers trope >>

they want to be their partner’s best friend

“i fell in love with your soul before i could even touch your skin”

gemini venus natives on quieter and more shy side can become more talkative with their loved ones

they’re probably the type to laugh in serious situations (while trying not to)

falling asleep to their loved one’s voice - i think they wouldn’t be against the idea of their person reading a book to them while they’re falling asleep

having goosebumps (and being turned on) when you whisper in their ear - be it sweet nothings or threats 😏 iykyk

they enjoy teasing, flirting and joking around with people they are comfortable with - even if they’re not interested in them romantically (although they’ll probably end up catching feelings one day)

+ it’s very possible some of their friends actually have a crush on them

gemini venus ♡ books

i think gemini venus natives are most likely to question their sexuality at some point and be confused, because they really do fall for people’s mind the most (everything else comes second)

dreaming about love all the time 🥰

being in actual relationship 😬

when the person they’re interested in patiently explains something to them it’s the most attractive thing to gemini venus

they can fear of being seen as dumb and stupid - they find smart people attractive and they want to be seen as smart too, especially by their love interest

holding hands is a big deal for them

they want to feel important, they want their partner to rely on them (you know when the main character have companion they trust, respect, view them as equal and keep them informed about everything)

so they want that partners in crime relationship 👆🏻

people often think they’re flirting even if they’re not

they actually like the idea of love at first sight and soulmate kind of connection

they find intense eye contact hot, and again, it can easily turn them on - also stealing glances at each other 🫦

they want to meet their person in more interesting way - like falling for an assassin who was sent to kill them for example.. lmao sorry but it’s true, they want the thrill, drama, adventure, everything 🤌🏻

even if it doesn’t seem like that, trust me when i say they’re probably dying inside when you’re flirting with them - sometimes simple words can make them melt

their mindset is literally ‘what if i can find someone even better?’ and that’s why they’re not really a fan of commitment

but they’re actually very loyal once they find their person

enjoy reading and even writing fanfictions

making weird noises and giggling like a little kid when it comes to love 🤭

stand up for their loved ones no matter what - they have powerful voices and use it to their advantage, charming way with words - they know exactly what to say and are not afraid to do so (especially if that means to protect people they love)

if they like you, they love talking with you - about anything, at any time

sometimes they don’t even know what they’re talking about, but still keep the conversation going because they want to talk with you

they love showing off their knowledge and they will learn about your interests as well to impress you and show you they care

if gemini venus person is interested in you, they will remember every random thing you once said - you said you don’t like green couches? 🤣 they’ll probably remember for the rest of their life, even if it’s the stupidest thing

they don’t like people that take everything too seriously and don’t understand their jokes

they have no problem to end the relationship if they’re not happy, it can hurt - sure, but they usually have high standards and won’t settle for less

giving pet names is one of their love languages too

there’s just something about the way they smile and laugh that’s so attractive and charming

also, they can laugh/smile a lot while talking

they need someone with whom they can discuss anything that’s on their mind and who can catch up with them on conversation - and someone who will challenge their minds

playful relationship, challenging each other in a playful way

“are you flirting or starting a fight?”

that’s all for now,

sending lots of love and hugs to everyone ❤️

-A

#astro #astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astroblr #astro community #venus in gemini #eternalove-a

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randoimago · 5 months

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Hi, I really enjoyed your post about the Korean reader. Can you write Duwang gang with russian s/o? I would like at least someone to write something similar with my national colouring, if you are not comfortable with it then don't worry about it and ignore the request.

Anyway thank you and good luck◉⁠‿⁠◉

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

Character(s): Josuke, Okuyasu, Koichi, Rohan

Note(s): I shall do my best! I also don't know much about Russian culture, but hopefully Google doesn't steer me wrong

Josuke

History and Geography aren't really his strong suits in school (he's not awful, it's just boring). So he likes hearing you talk about your home if you want. Josuke likes to compare stories.

Since he's not on the best of terms with Rohan, he tries to slowly learn Russian to talk to you in it. And he's also happy to help you with any Japanese that you might be struggling with too.

Josuke does wonder how you're doing adjusting to Japan. Sure, he knows Russia isn't a winter wonderland like stereotypes say, but Japan can get humid as all hell in the summer and really hopes you aren't dying of the temperature. He'll do his best to come up with ways to keep you cool.

Koichi

This sweet boy is asking if you're alright, Japan is a long way from home. If you're homesick then perhaps he can find some restaurant that has food similar to what Russia has. Maybe Tonio could whip up something since he's a talented chef!

Koichi is also fascinated to hear about your home too. He knows of some historical things when it comes to Russia due to his history class. And he definitely tried to learn more when he started dating you.

Being "friends" with Rohan has it's perks as Koichi is going to try to learn Russian so he can talk to you in that language. He wouldn't mind if you'd prefer to help teach him, but he likes the idea of being able to communicate with you in your native language fluently.

Okuyasu

Firstly, he asks where Russia is. He's not exactly the smartest tool in the shed. Of course he knows what Russia is (albeit more of the stereotypes with it), but he has no idea where it'd be on a map besides being some frozen wasteland (again, stereotypes).

He likes hearing about your home though. Listening to you talk about it and the things you did growing up is very interesting. Comparing childhood songs or games is something that he does often (he likes reminiscing about happier times with his family).

If you tell Okuyasu about the employed cats that Russia has then he's amazed. He's heard mythologies surrounding cats and he does own Stray Cat now and wonders if he'd be able to employ her somehow…

Rohan

Well, first thing he's doing when he learns you're Russian is asking what you know about the Baba Yaga. It just seems like some folklore that would be fantastic to reference and put into some manga series.

Rohan is pretty well traveled so he's been to Russia a couple times. He enjoys talking to you about your homeland and how it differs from Japan.

He most likely does use the stories you have of Russia for help with his manga. He'd use his stand, but he actually likes you so he's fine with listening to you talk about your childhood and things that you grew up with in Russia while he takes notes.

Taglist: @abellaheart-blog @joestarfoundation

#Anonymous #jjba x reader #josuke x reader #josuke higashikata x reader #okuyasu x reader #okuyasu nijimura x reader #koichi hirose x reader #koichi x reader #rohan x reader #rohan kishibe x reader

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wenigstenshabeichesversucht · 11 months

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"He is half of my soul, as the poets say"

Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader sees something on a job which got her realising life is too short

Warnings: angst, trauma, description of dead, english is not my native language

Word Count: 4.3k

The cold was slowly creeping up on you, and the sight before you could only mean one thing, you were dreaming, dreaming a nightmare.

The day started like every other, you all slept till noon and then George went to the Archive to collect information for your new case while Lucy, Lockwood and you prepared everything else.

The sun was already slowly setting and was turning everything around you into a dim light when you all met up with George. “Around sixty years ago, the house was owned by a young couple, Andrew and Mary Hoffman. They were brutally murdered by robbers.” George told the team as you entered said house.

The new owners had no connection to the killed couple, they weren’t even sure if it was one or two ghosts. They only reported that the living room and the second bedroom upstairs were colder than the rest of the house; two weeks ago at night, the rooms became so cold that the windows were freezing and they could see their own breath. This, plus a dreadful feeling, had brought the owners to Lockwood & Co. to get rid of their ghost problem.

You joined Lockwood & Co. half a year ago. Since then, your team had become your best friends, and you trusted them with your life. Of course, with Lockwood & Co. often times things took a turn that really nobody expected, but they had your back and you had theirs, so you knew that it didn’t matter what the night had in store, Lockwood & Co. would ace it.

With this in mind, you followed your team inside the kitchen. Like every good team, you knew your ins and outs, so you didn’t need to talk to know that it was your job to make tea while Lockwood searched for biscuits. You had like fifteen minutes before the darkness would settle upon East London, which was also enough time for a cup of tea and one or maybe two biscuits.

While you were busy preparing each cup of tea the way each member of Lockwood& Co. liked it, Lockwood found what he was looking for. And when he happily declared that the new owners had the good kind of biscuit, you couldn’t help but smile. Lockwood’s happiness always got you beaming, when he was happy, you were happy, probably because you were such good friends. At least that’s what you tell yourself when you were lying at night in your bed and couldn’t sleep because you were too busy thinking about how the laugh of your boss sounded or how his skin felt on yours when you accidentally touched at the kitchen table when you both were reaching for the same item. Maybe if you would stop for a moment and think about it, you would realise that you were head over heels in love with your boss and landlord, but for you denial was not just a river in Egypt.

“The police suspected Mary was killed first, they found her body in the living room. Andrew was found upstairs in the open door of the bedroom. They assumed, he heard the gunshot which killed Mary and wanted to see what happened”, George shared his grim research, and you pushed his cup over the counter to him. As thanks, he gave you a quick nod.

“So, we should split up”, Lockwood appeared next to you and cool like always he leaned against the kitchen counter. This was enough to make your heart skip a beat. It felt like every minute, it would just jump out of your ribcage.

“George and I, and you and Y/N, like always?”, asked Lucy sipping her tea.

Lucy was the best listener you ever met; Lockwood’s talent was great sight. You were like George; you got a bit of everything. You could see ghost, but no death-glow. You could hear the voices of visitors, but you couldn’t understand what they were saying. Only your touch was better than average and saved you from the fate of a night watch kid. Sometimes when you touch something ghost infected, you could see, hear, and feel important moments of the ghost’s life. For you, these visions often felt like minutes, but it was only a few seconds.

But in Lockwood’s humble opinion, a few second were enough for you to get ghost-touched. For someone so reckless, he was terribly worried about your safety. Therefore, you got into more than one argument about this issue. If Lockwood had his way, you would sit back home, while your team was fighting ghost without you. But that was no life you wanted to live, and you made this clear. If Lockwood would ever force you to stay back at Portland Row, you would leave Lockwood and Co. This was the argument, which always won you the fight. When he couldn’t keep you safe by leaving you back home, Lockwood insisted, that on missions you always stayed by his side. He was the best swordsman of you four, so he was the best fit to protect you and himself from getting ghost-touched. You didn’t mind. It was nice to work close with Lockwood, when he wasn’t plunging himself head first into danger. But Lucy once claimed, with knowing smirk in her face, that he was doing it less, since you joined the agency.

It was no surprise to everyone, that he agreed with Lucy, and before you knew it, you were standing in the living room. One look at your watch confirmed what you already felt, every minute the last light of the sun would disappear, and the night would begin. Unconsciously wrapping your jacket tighter around your frame, your fingers fiddled with your belt, trying to remove the thermometer.

You weren’t nervous-no- you weren’t more nervous than on any other mission. Of course, you didn’t know which kind of ghost you would encounter this night, but you were positive that you could handle it. To fail in front of Lockwood wasn’t an option.

Finally freeing the thermometer from your belt, you began to start tracking the temperature. This was your job, while Lockwood was kneeing in the middle of the room, probably examining the death-glow.

The closer you got to the fireplace, where the remains of a long-forgotten fire lay, the colder it became. When you came to a stop in front of the fireplace, your hair stood up, and you couldn’t help but tremble. Closing your eyes, you put your hand on the old stones of the fireplace, expecting them to be cold, but they were nicely warm.

“How odd”, you muttered, before you were hit by a vision.

The first you picked up was the warm, it was a stark contrast to the cold, you were feeling just seconds ago. You were still standing in the same spot in the same room, but beside the fireplace everything was different. The furniture and décor were an older style, bright sunlight shone through the window, and everything screamed home.

In the middle of the room, a couple were slow dancing to “Will You Love Me Tomorrow” from The Shirelles, they were laughing and the happiness they were emitting was luring you in. You couldn’t help but also smile, and for a moment you forget that this wasn’t real. As if you were under a spell, you watched the couple in awe and as he spun her around, you saw his face for the first time.

You inhaled sharp. This face in front of you, you would recognize everywhere. The man looked exactly like how you imagine Lockwood would look in maybe four or five years. He was dressed in the fashion of the 60s, and his eyes shined full of love. You could watch him like this forever.

Narrowing your eyes, you tried to get a better look at his dance partner. She had light brown hair and wore a pretty yellow dress. The pair did another turn, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. The woman in Lockwood’s arm were you. She was exactly looking like you. Maybe a few years older and a lot happier.

Lockwood was gazing at her like she was his world, and you would have given everything that your Lockwood would looking at you like he was looking at her. You would kill for it. As this thought plopped up in your head, the world around you shifted.

In one moment, everything around you were bright and warm in the next moment you stood in the dark lifeless living room and the cold rushed over you, like somebody emptied a bucket full of ice water over your head.

A bad taste in your mouth and a creeping feeling of dread was all the warning you got, but it was also all the warning you needed. Pulling out your rapier, you spun around to come face to face with the ghost of Mary Hoffmann. But what you saw let you freeze like a stone statue. You weren’t ghost-locked, you just couldn’t believe it. It was like looking into a mirror, just that the own reflection was dead.

Shortly the thought, that the ghost was playing with you, crossed your mind, but that was not how your visions worked. Mary looked exactly like she had in the vision; she was your Doppelgänger.

Tearing your eyes from the sight, you never wanted to see in your life, you looked to Lockwood. Normally Lockwood tried to look cool, calm, collected, but right now his eyes darted between you and the ghost, not believing what he saw.

Nobody of you were moving, the ghost looked at you and when your eyes locked you couldn’t even lift a finger. You could feel her sadness and her grieve. But under all there was anger, an anger you could understand all too well. Maybe you didn’t know how it felt to lose your own life, but you already felt the grieve and anger after you lost a loved one.

“Darling, please step back slowly”, Lockwood tried to sound calm, but you could see right through it. But his voice had always the same effect on you, it brought you back.

Removing your gaze from the ghost in front of you, your eyes met Lockwood’s. That was enough to stop the growing panic. He was here with you, nothing too bad would happen.

Clutching your rapier like your life depended on it, you followed Lockwood’s order. Slowly you took a step back, then another till your back hit the wooden shelf of the fireplace. All the time you watched the ghost cautious, waiting for it to attack you. But Mary only followed curious your movement until you touched the wood.

It was like you flipped a switch. In one moment, she was peaceful, in the next she wasn’t any more. With a high wail she lunged for you, and before you could react Lockwood was there, his rapier slicing through her. Ectoplasm splattered around, and a few drops hit your boots. And the ghost? She vanished but both of you were agents and knew that it was only a matter of time, that she would reappear. Time you could use to search for the source.

“Are you OK?”, Lockwood sounded concerned.

Like the liar you were, you sent him a small smile, “Sure.”

Of course, you weren’t OK, not after seeing this. But you were too professional, to let it affect your work. Therefore, you took a deep breath and tried to slow your thoughts. First came the work and when you survived the night, you could handle your feelings.

You weren’t new to this field, your experience told you, that it wasn’t a coincidence that Mary acted up as you touched the wood. Her source had to be close. A short look at Lockwood confirmed your suspicion.

“We should lay out the chains”, Lockwood suggested, and you nodded. Both of you knew, that there was no guarantee what would happen, if you touched the source and to find it you had to touch it. Also, there was the possibility, that the ghost was out to get you. Maybe it also realized that you both were a lookalike and now wanted to kill you for it.

“I grab them and Darling, remember no matter what happens, I have your back.”

While Lockwood laid out the chains, he insisted on doing it, you stood with raised rapier next to him, ready to fight off the ghost, if it would appear. But you both were lucky; Mary didn’t show up.

Now you stood inside the iron chains, slowly reaching out to touch the wood a second time. You could feel it, you were so close. Closing your eyes for better concentrating, you carefully let your hands wander over the shelf. When you touched to deep cuts in the wood, which awfully resembled the letters A and M, you knew, that you found it. But before you could inform Lockwood, another vision came crashing over you like a wave and pulled you under.

You were in the same room as in the last vision. But now it was night, and you were looking down the barrel of a gun. Her angst, your angst, was all consuming. Your whole body was shacking.

“Please”, her and at the same time also your voice, was not more than a whisper.

That was all you needed to realize, that in this vision you weren’t just watching her, you were her. And now you would learn how it felt like to die. A small tear ran down your cheek, and you didn’t know if it was Mary or you, who was crying.

Before you could beg again, the robber pulled the trigger. The pain you felt as the bullet priced your flesh was worse than anything you had experienced before. Falling to the floor, you wanted to scream, but the only sound which left your mouth was a quit whimper.

You could feel the warm blood rushing out of your body and starting to form a puddle beneath you. You were too young to die. You had so much you wanted to do, you had so many people you had so say goodbye to. You just couldn’t leave George, Lucy and him- oh you would miss him so much.

With the last of your strength, you tried pressing down on your wound. Burning hot pain shot through your body. But still your warm blood was running through your finger, and you were running out of time. Any breath could be your last one. Everything was cold and you were so tired. You would love nothing more, than to just close your eyes, so you did. Your lungs took their last breath, and then you died.

Just to suddenly standing next to Marys/ your dead body. There was only one thing worse than seeing your own ghost, and that was seeing your own lifeless body. By the sight in front of you, your blood was running cold, and you felt like throwing up.

“Darling, everything alright? What was this noise?”, you heard Lockwood’s voice from above. The robber exchanged looks before they followed his voice upstairs.

Knowing what was to come, your whole body went stiff.

No-no-no-no, that could not happen. You couldn’t let him die. Panicking, you searched for something, that could be used as a weapon, but when you tried to reach for the poker, your hand just went through. In this vision, you were the ghost, you couldn’t change anything.

You jumped when two shots rang out, another tear was running down your cheek. Damn, you knew that you didn’t want to see it, but you couldn’t help it.

Rushing up the stairs, there he was lying. His lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling; all sparks long gone from them. Your legs gave up under you and with a loud wail you felt to the floor. You were wrong earlier; the worst sight of your life was Lockwood’s dead body here in front of you. And you would never fully recover from it.

You were still crying ugly when you came back. When you said yes to this job, you really didn’t expect to get so traumatised. Your heart was beating so fast like you just ran a marathon. Trembling all over, you allowed yourself a quick look over your shoulder.

There he stood, with his back to you, he was facing the room. His rapier was resting in his hands, while he tried to look less tense than he was feeling. Relief flooded through you at the sight of him. It hasn’t been real, he was alive. You suppressed a loud sob and forced yourself to appear calm on the outside, even if there was a storm raging inside.

“I found the source, do you have a crowbar?”, hearing the sound of your voice, Lockwood turned around, which was a bad mistake.

Of course your luck just ran out and Mary decided, that this was the best moment to reappear again. Would it be a typical mission for Lockwood and Co. if something like this wouldn’t happen? You guessed not.

Seeing her appear right behind Lockwood, her arm outstretched, gave you a heart attack.

They say when something terrible happens, you witness it in slow motion. But that wasn’t true for you. It always happened so fast.

“Watch out”, you yelled, while your hands worked hastily to pull out a salt bombe out of your jacket pocket. While Lockwood spun around and only escaped the ghost-touched by jumping back, you threw the bomb. It hit Mary right in the chest, and with a high-pitched wail she backed off.

“I will fend her off”, without warning, Lockwood threw with his free hand his crowbar to you. Luckily for you, you caught it.

To be completely honest, this was a shitty job. You hated it with all your bones. If it were up to you, this night couldn’t end fast enough.

So you took Lockwood’s crowbar and bought it down onto the shelf with all your anger bundled and a roar of frustration. Two hits were enough to cause the part of the wood with the initials to splinter.

Behind you, you heard Lockwood taunting the ghost to distract her from you. Because one thing for sure, Mary hated what you were doing to her source.

There was no reason for you to drag this out any longer. Therefore, you took your silver net and threw it over the little piece of wood, you broke off. In an instance, the chaos stopped.

“Are you alri-”, Lockwood never got to finish his sentence, he got too distracted from the loud pounding footsteps, which were running down the stairs.

The next moment, Lucy appeared in the doorway.

“Thank god, you are alive”, with a relived sigh, she threw her arms around Lockwood. Confused, his eyebrows raised.

Would it be any other day, you might have become jealous at the sight in front of you- you could never hug Lockwood light this- but this job had been hell. You only felt tired, so tired.

“We were fighting against a ghost, which looked exactly like you”, Lucy added when she realised how confused Lockwood looked. You already put two and two together, thanks to your visions.

“And suddenly he just vanished, did you found both sources by any chance?”, George chimed in as he entered the room.

“Quite possible”, picking up the silver net, you were careful not expose the source.

“Here”, without further ado, you handed the net into George’s unexpected hand. You wanted nothing more to do with it.

Not waiting for his response, you pushed past him and rushed out of the house. You knew that it wasn’t your smartest move to just run out of a house in the middle of the night. But you still had your rapier and you needed fresh air.

Trembling all over, you took a deep breath. What the hell had been this shit show? And why had they looked exactly like Lockwood and you? You wanted to cry, but you hadn’t any tears left. Wiping your cheeks to remove the salty remains, you crumbled a little. You could still feel the warm blood on your hands, you could still see Lockwood lying dead in front of you.

But before you could collapse, you heard steps behind you. Turning your head, you saw Lockwood hurrying to you. Without saying anything, he pulled you in his warm embrace, and you melted under his touch. Laying your head against his chest, your hands griped his coat, like you were afraid he would leave you. You could hear his hearth racing, and you were sure, that your heart was beating even faster.

Like this, you stayed for what felt like forever. It seemed like both of you wanted to make sure, that what happened inside the house wasn’t more than a bad dream. As if you stayed long enough like this, you could undo what you had seen insight.

After a moment Lockwood broke the silence, “For a second I thought you were her and that you-”, right in the middle he stopped, and you looked up into his pained face.

This was the moment, that you realised, how close you were. You would just have to stand on your tiptoes and your lips would be brushing his. But you didn’t dare. What if he didn’t like you as much as you like him? Then you try to kiss him, ruining everything.

“I never felt such relief in my life when I saw you standing there”, pausing, Lockwood also seemed to realise in which position you both were. Blushing, he took a step back, and you wanted to scream.

“Darling, will you be OK after tonight?” Certainly not. Maybe you put a stop to the haunting, but for sure her memories will haunt you.

To 85.66% you were sure, that after this night Lockwood told the rest of the team, that you both had fought against your lookalikes. You could see it in the pitiful glances they gave you.

The first days after the job, you mainly spend in your room. At the latest, when you didn’t protest when Lockwood suggested that you stay home for the next job, everyone knew that something was wrong with you.

Every night in your dreams, you and Lockwood died again and again. Every night you woke up heavily panting, and your bed was soaked with sweat. Rational, you knew that neither you nor Lockwood had died, but it had felt so real.

Even when the light was shining through your window, you felt the adrenalin pumping through your veins, ready to fight or flight. The worst part was, that you knew your fear wasn’t so wrong. As an agent, every job could be your last. A little slip up and you could be dead.

To distract yourself, you tried to think of reasons why Mary and Andrew Hoffman looked exactly like you and Lockwood.

One time you read, that every person had seven doppelgängers, but the probability that your lookalike married Lockwood’s was so low. There must be another explanation, you just knew it.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the knock on your door. Only when Lockwood entered your room, you got brought back.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”, you asked the first thing, that came into your mind, before he could say anything.

Taken by surprise, he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of your room.

“I-I- I mean”, he stuttered, and slowly a blush began creeping up his face. From the eloquent Lockwood you often watched was no sign to see.

“Are you thinking about them?”, he asked instead of answering your question. He didn’t even have to say their names for you to know who he was talking about.

“Yes, they got me thinking. How odd it is that both were our lookalikes?”

“And they married each other.” Lockwood’s brown eyes met yours and your heart stopped.

“Yes, and they married each other”, you repeated breathless, while Lockwood came closer.

“May I?”, before you knew it, he was sitting next to you on the bed. Only now did you realize he had swapped his fine suit for a simple grey jumper. If it was even possible, your heart started to beat even faster. Discreetly, you tried to wipe off your sweaty hands on your leggings.

Hoping to gain control over your own body again, you took a deep breath. “You didn’t answer my first question, do you believe in reincarnation?”

Nervously, you bit on your lips, and Lockwood’s eyes followed the movement before his eyes lingered.

While fidgeting with his hands, Lockwood cleared his throat. Never before you saw him so nervous.

“I would like to believe that my soul will always find yours, no matter when and where we are.”

He was looking anywhere but at you. Which was fine, totally fine, because you looked like an idiot.

Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Or was it just wishful thinking?

The last job has showed you, that the life could be awfully short, you could die any time. Sometime love was worth taking a risk on and if you knew one thing it was, that you loved the reckless idiot in front of you.

Gripping his jumper, you brought his lips down to yours. First, he wasn’t kissing back, and you were scared, that you did a big mistake. But then he returned the kiss, and you felt like flying.

Far too quickly you separated and breathless you gazed into each other eyes.

“I would also like to believe that my soul will always find yours.”

#anthony lockwood #fanfic #lockwood & co #lockwood & co fanfic #lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader

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imnotaacat · 4 months

Text

You (not) Belong to Me

bestfriend!Steve x fem reader / boyfriend!Eddie x fem reader.

— Summary: You were always in love with your best friend Steve, however, he never noticed it and when he did it was too late.

— Warnings: Angst, friends to enemies, insults, and some fluff with Eddie at the end. (I think that's all)

A/n: English is not my native language, sorry if something is written wrong, I hope everything can be understood. :)

Five years have passed since you moved from Hawkins to follow your dream, it was very difficult of course, but now, you are one of the most important artists in the industry. Many emotions were passing through your mind, many memories, your friends, your best friends, would finally be together again.

It was very difficult to convince your agency and manager that they would agree to have a date in Hawkins, but after some insistence, they agreed. Hawkins was a quiet, boring town, but now that you and Corroed Coffin had included it in your respective tours, the town was in chaos. Despite having called its leader and vocalist, Eddie Munson, satanic.

After two and a half hours of flight, your plane landed, there was a crowd at the airport shouting your name, holding banners, and asking for photos and autographs, you signed the ones you could, while you got to the car that would take you to your hotel, you agreed to see your friends after your concert, so you will rest better.

You were about to end the show, this would be the last song, you were so happy to see how people had fun and sang all the songs on the setlist.

“Alright Hawkins, are you ready to go back to high school with me?” The entire crowd shouted, and that song that more than one identified with began to play.

"You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset She's going off about something that you said 'Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do I'm in my room, it's a typical Tuesday night I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like And she'll never know your story like I do"

Despite the lights you could see your friends in the crowd, seeing that scene where they were chanting and enjoying your songs made you even happier. You really appreciated the support of your friends, they always gave you words of encouragement, even when you thought you wouldn't make it, but now look at you, you fill entire stadiums and arenas.

"And you've got a smile that could light up this whole town I haven't seen it in a while since she brought you down You say you're fine, I know you better than that Hey, what ya doing with a girl like that?"

At that moment something clicked in Steve's brain.

You were neighbors since you were children, however, being “King Steve” and you being just another “normal” student, there was never any interaction beyond casual greetings, however, that changed when you reached high school, being in the same class and also being neighbors, the friendship between you blossomed quite quickly. Without realizing it, you went and did everything together, many began to believe that you were dating, but you always denied it. However, behind all the times you denied it, there was a reality, you liked Steve.

"She wears high heels, I wear sneakers She's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

If you could see that I'm the one who understands you Been here all along, so why can't you see? You belong with me"

Steve started dating a girl from high school, she was the captain of the cheerleaders, like her best friend, you gave him all the encouragement and confidence to ask about a first date, to ask for a second date, and even to formalize the relationship; although inside you were dying of jealousy and reproaching yourself for not having the courage to tell him what you felt for him.

When the relationship ended after a few months, Steve, although he didn't show it, was heartbroken, so there you were, giving him words of encouragement and your shoulder to cry on, reproaching yourself again for not telling him your feelings.

"Oh, I remember you driving to my house In the middle of the night I'm the one who makes you laugh When you know you're about to cry

I know your favorite songs And you tell me about your dreams Think I know where you belong Think I know it's with me"

After class you had told Steve that you weren't feeling very well, so you weren't going to the party with him; he insisted on staying with you and taking care of you, but you rejected him claiming that you didn't want him to miss out on the fun and the opportunity to meet a girl that night. However, the reality is that you did not want to have him close, you did not want to see him flirt with various girls at the party, while your heart would break into a thousand pieces, you did not want to be alone with him, and fight with yourself for fear of rejection.

It was around 11:30 when you heard the doorbell ring, It had already rung several times, but you didn't dare open it, because you were alone at home and Steve was also too far away to help you, if was a serial killer or something similar, you turned off the television, stood up and began to climb the stairs as far as possible. As silent as possible, your doorbell kept ringing.

“Sweetheart, is everything okay? It's Steve." Your legs weakened a little when you heard the nickname, you stood there for a few more seconds and then went down the stairs again and opened the door. “Steve? What are you doing here? It's not even twelve…” Steve entered your house and gave you what he had in his hands, four pieces of pizza, probably from the party, some gas station chocolates, and a small bouquet of roses that were almost withered. “I know, honey, but I didn't feel good at the party knowing that you weren't well, so I decided to come here, accompany you, and help you with whatever you need.” Steve turned to look at you and raised both thumbs. “Steve, it wasn't necessary, I already feel much better, I'm serious.” However, I can't hear you anymore, I was arriving at your room.

That night they spent together, they talked about school, problems with her parents, and love dramas. Finally, he discovered that your spirits were low because of a boy, so for about an hour, he asked you the name of the boy, without knowing that he was him.

“Standing by and waiting at your backdoor All this time how could you not know, baby? You belong with me You belong with me

You belong with me Have you ever thought just maybe You belong with me You belong with me"

“Thank you very much, Hawkins! A round of applause for this wonderful band that accompanies me, a round of applause for you, I hope to see you soon, thank you very much.” You said goodbye to your audience as you left the stage, leaving behind the screams of all the people who loved and supported you. Steve also quickly got up from his seat heading towards your dressing room, he ran as fast as he could to avoid encountering the entire crowd. Finally, he was able to sneak through the crowd and the small spaces under the stage to get to your dressing room, he knocked on the door insistently, until you finally opened it.

“Steve!” You quickly hugged him. “Sweetheart” He said while hugging you, “You know, I finally understood everything, I understood why my relationships never lasted with any girl” He began to say with a smile, as he separated from the hug and took your hands, you just had a face surprised and confused. “What are you talking about Steve? I'm not understanding you at all” You said laughing, his eyes went to yours. “It was always you, I was always in love with you, I finally understood all the signals you were giving me… I really was an idiot for not realizing it.” Steve said with a smile, a slight blush on his cheeks, you didn't know what to say. “Steve I—” Your words were interrupted by your other friends who shouted to get your attention and ran to hug you.

“It's good to see you all again, thank you very much for coming.” You spoke, as you looked at your friends. “My god, you guys have grown so much” You spoke addressing Dustin, Mike, Will, Eleven, and Max. Who smiled back at you. “It's incredible to be all together again… Only Eddie is missing and the whole group will be reunited again, it's a shame he's coming here until tomorrow.” Dustin spoke, you simply nodded with a mischievous smile, while the others discussed agreeing with him.

“Love, everything is done, we can go with the boys.” Said a voice speaking distractedly, also walking looking backwards, making sure everything was in its place and order. “Edward…”You spoke. Eddie turned to look at you with a smile and then saw who you were talking to, the one who was waiting to see you talking to your team quickly covered his mouth, “Shit” hoping that by magic no one would have heard what he had called you. All your friends looked at them surprised, especially Steve, “Did you listen carefully to what he said?”, “Did everyone hear the same thing?” They all asked at the same time, you and Eddie just laughed, and you raised your left hand to your mouth to cover your laughter a little, “Wait… You already have the ring!” Robin shouted, everyone stopped talking and turned to look at them again, “God, at what point?” “When were you planning to tell us?”, “Were you guys already dating when you left here?” Dustin asked, everyone had a lot of questions at that moment. “Oh no dude, three years ago she was part of the cover of one of the band's albums, we started talking more often and well, now we're going to get married” Eddie explained with a big smile on his face. While all this was going on and Eddie was answering some questions you noticed that Steve's mood and expressions had changed and rightly so. Actually, in those years that you were in love with him, you gave him all the signs you could, even the most obvious ones, like the time you kissed him pretending to be a little drunk, however, there was no response from him, so from that moment on you decided forgetting him, you moved to Los Angeles and met Eddie again, from the moment you started talking to him you realized how gentlemanly and warm he was, you never noticed it when you still lived in Hawkins, he quickly won your heart, and Now you were about to marry him, the love of your life.

“Love, is everything okay?” Eddie asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I'm sorry, I zoned out a little, I remember how we had it before, I'm very happy that we are together again” You responded with a smile, Eddie hugged you and kissed you on the forehead. “What do they say about going out to eat something?” Dustin said, “I'm hungry and you two must give us a lot of answers.” Everyone laughed. “We can go to my house, we can be calmer,” Steve spoke, with a noticeably low mood.

“Does anyone know what's wrong with Steve? Since we came back it's been weird” Robin said, looking at Steve who was in the backyard of his house. The others denied. “He probably didn't have a good day,” you said. “I spend the whole day excited about tonight, it's weird” Dustin added. “I'll go talk to him” You warned as you stood up and walked in Steve's direction.

"Everything is alright?" You asked, but there was no answer, so you just sat next to him, giving him space, “You're my best friend, I know we haven't lost communication a bit, but you can still trust me.” Again there was no response, although you had an idea of what he might have, from what he had told you in your dressing room. “That's the problem” He finally spoke, turning to look at you. “I'm your best friend” You didn't respond. “Why did you never tell me?” He asked, a hint of confusion showing on your face. “Tell you what?” Asked. “That you were in love with me” Your confused expression became a little more evident. “I knew you were like this because of this” You stopped looking at him and directed your gaze towards your ring. “If you had only told me, I would have given you the ring you are wearing,” I added. A little anger began to grow in your chest. “Are you really in love with him?” Asked. “Or are you just with him out of spite?” You didn't answer anything, you could hear how drunk he was, so he was just saying it because he was drunk, not because he meant it. “What does he have that I don't have?” “Edward Munson” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “What could be so special about the freak?” “What does the freak have that King Steve doesn't, huh?” He said with an annoyed tone in his voice, you remained silent, you really didn't want to say anything and ruin your friendship, however with everything Steve was saying, he was going that way, Steve probably wouldn't remember tomorrow, but you would, and probably after that night the friendship between the two of you would no longer exist.

"I bet when you realized that I didn't feel the same way about you, you ran into his arms." You remained silent, you didn't believe everything he was telling you, he was your best friend, how could he say something like that about you? "You know... For a long time it was said that you were a slut, I never believed them but now I realize it was the truth" Steve laughed at the moment, he turned to look at you, and you were already looking at him, however, the tears were beginning to come out. your eyes. “I’m thankful I never dated you, can you imagine King Steve dating a slut?” once again he laughed. Without realizing it, Eddie was a short distance from you, he had heard everything, to say that he was angry would be flattery, he wanted to go with you and confront Steve himself, however, he restrained himself, he knew that it was a problem between you and Steve, He shouldn't get involved, you two would talk later.

The anger was already accumulated in your chest, Steve reacted until he felt the burning of your hand on his cheek, there he woke up, he realized everything he had told you, and he regretted it instantly, however, it was too late. "You're an Idiot!" You said a little louder, getting your friend's attention. “I gave you a lot of signs when I was in love with you, all our friends realized it, except you Steve, even someone who didn't know you or me would have realized it” Steve's face of regret was evident, all the others were now only a meter away from the two of you. "You know... now I'm grateful not to be with you, I always thought you were a gentleman, but now I realize that when you're drunk you transform, your true self takes over you, imagine being your best friend, you call me a slut, what wouldn't you say to me being your girlfriend or wife?” Steve felt the gaze of all his friends staring at him, especially Eddie's, without even seeing him he could tell that he was very angry. “You could have fooled us all Steve, saying that you had changed, that you were different, but now I realize that you will always be the idiotic and stupid King Steve” You said. You gave him one last look and then went inside the house to grab your things, Eddie followed you, and you noticed how angry Eddie was, you took his hand, then you remembered that your friends were still there, you turned to see them, their confused faces told you everything. “Guys… sorry about this… I didn't think it would end like this tonight, I'll make it up to you, I promise.” Everyone nodded and some said there was no problem. You and Eddie left Steve's house hand in hand and headed to the car you had rented, before getting in you could notice a flash behind you. “Shit” They both thought.

After that discussion everyone went home, Steve was alone again, the regret was much greater than him, the image of all his friends being disappointed in him after you left was present in his head, but without However, the one that was repeated the most was yours, seeing him with teary eyes listening to him call you “slut”, he wondered what had happened to him, why call the person he loved that way, the person he has always loved. It had probably been jealousy, for not acting sooner, and now you were happy for someone else, the guilt was killing him, if he found out that you and Eddie broke up because of that, he definitely wouldn't be able to live in peace, he knew you would never want to have anything. with him now, and knowing that the person you loved would leave because of him, he couldn't bear it.

The walk from Steve's house to his hotel had been silent, which meant something to you, you and Eddie always had something to talk about, even if it was stupid. Once in his hotel room, you headed to the bathroom and Eddie stayed in the small living room. You took a rather long shower, and when you came out of the shower you noticed that Eddie was not in the room, you put on your pajamas and got ready to sleep and rest, tomorrow you would talk to him and explain everything to him. For about thirty minutes you tried to fall asleep, but you just couldn't do it, you got out of bed and headed to the small living room, there you saw Eddie sitting, he had a music book in his hands, without making much noise. When you approached him and sat on the couch leaving a little space between you, he turned to look at you, the image he saw made his anger return, you looked tired and irritated, and rightly so, after a concert and everything that step, your eyes were red and swollen, making it obvious that you had cried. “I don't want to bother you, I just want to talk to you… explain what happened.” You spoke, Eddie responded a few seconds later, “You don't have to explain anything to me, I know what happened” He responded, you looked down at your ring, it was probably over between the two of you. “I'm not mad at you, Love… I'm mad at Steve, for everything he said, for what he called you…” You turned to look at him. “I always thought that you and him were dating, that's why I didn't dare to confess it to you when we were at school… But when you told me that you and he weren't together, I didn't want to miss the opportunity to be with you and since that day I haven't regretted it.” Eddie smiled, opening his arms in a hug, and you snuggled into his arms. “I love you so much” You said, “I love you too” He responded, getting up and carrying your bridal style towards the bedroom.

A year later you found yourself on stage again at Hawkings, your wedding with Eddie would have been a few months after their photos appeared in the newspaper speculating about their relationship, the day of the fight at Steve's house.

“Very good Hawkins, I'm very happy to be here tonight, for the next song, someone very special will accompany me on guitar, with you, Eddie Munson!” Eddie came out on stage, the entire crowd went crazy, absolutely everyone since those speculations about the two of you, he began to comment that you would be a great couple, one of the best in the artistic medium. However, no one confirmed or denied the news. Eddie greeted the crowd, then hugged you, and you confirmed your relationship with a kiss, the audience once again applauded and screamed at this.

You brought your microphone closer to him, “Good evening Hawkins, I'm glad to be here with you, but above all to share the stage with this wonderful girl” He said looking at you “Now we will play for you “Slut!”” The crowd went crazy once again, there was a lot of speculation. and theories for who this song would be for, but now, it was more than confirmed.

"Flamingo pink, Sunrise boulevard Clink, clink, being this young is art Aquamarine, moonlit swimming pool What if all I need is you?"

Steve, who had gone to your concert, was clearly incognito because, after that night, the group had decided not to communicate with him much. I knew that fight could have perhaps inspired this song, although I wasn't proud of the way you had written a song, thinking of him.

I hope you like this short (long) one shot, it's the first time I have written something like this, so I would also like you to give advice or recommendations. I hope it's not too long or boring. I would appreciate your comments. 💗

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #joe keery #joseph quinn

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mi-i-zori · 2 months

Text

Lies of Apathy

CoD - Demon!AU - Demon!Ghost x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS : She should have started running a long time ago. But they’re one and the same. No matter how far she goes, she always comes back to him. And the demon knows how to find her.

WARNINGS : Heavy angst with very small comfort, allusions to self-harm, mentions of smut (with consent), blood, description of panic attacks. There are a lot of religious metaphors that come from many, many religions, but none of them is directly mentioned.

Author’s Note : This is something I originally wrote in my native language a while ago, but ended up getting lost in my files because I had no idea what to do with it. So I used it as both a translation and writing practice. Hope you like it !

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Word Count : 12k+

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Beyond the turquoise shine of the firmament, a mayhem hides.

Waiting to awaken.

It longs for destruction, wishing to make our world and its peace a crude copy of the original Pandemonium. Lost in the soft, spectral feathers of a Fallen, a crimson suffering leaks, drops and runs, engraving its cruel wails into the bones of those who dare hear them. Those who only see it as an incarnation of love.

Oh, how tragic it can be, that imitation of kindness forging those who are supposed to guide the lost souls to the other side of the river ! In the blood of an Angel dance the names of countless minor deities bathing in their corrupted altruism - something the Ghost knows too well.

Sometimes, he remembers how he’s not supposed to be, for the memories of his origins have been erased by a never-ending hatred and despair.

In front of him, the young Hunter falls to her knees, facing the ruins of her own happiness. A peculiar fear tears a whimper from her knotted throat, and the idea of praying before this dilapidated shrine, created by a merciless Divine, leaves a rotten taste on what’s left of her tastebuds. A nameless exhaustion claws at her face, tries to drag her down the abyss of her subconscious. Her heart crumbles upon a way too familiar weight, and her breath gallops erratically in her lungs, her chest threatening to cave in under the ever-growing despair tainting her tears.

Knowing said despair is akin to drowning in its breast, to familiarise yourself with its screeching song and bury your bloodied eardrums among its decaying notes. In this very moment, a monster holds her with a renewed form of frenesy, and something inside of her cannot seem to wriggle out of the thorns covering its arms.

Around her, a baritone voice echoes from the darkness.

- Beautiful sight, it says. Small, vulnerable ya, prostrated in a field o’ ruins. ‘Ow many statues of ‘ope did ya build ‘ere, only for ‘em to instantly be destroyed ?

A familiar silhouette emerges from the nothingness facing her. She doesn’t answer to its usual sarcasm - instead, she allows her heart to bleed one more drop on the cracks littering the ground.

- Wot are ya prayin’ for, this time ? The entity asks as he stops next to her, crossing his arms on his chest. Maybe I can ‘elp.

His words awaken a wave of uncontrollable shivers in her guts. An violent earthquake, cold and cackling. Its growls bounce around her vocal cords as her nails dig into her palms.

- I’m not praying, she says from in-between her clenched teeth, her eyes falling upon the remnants of something she can’t bring herself to recognize. The Gods will never lift a finger when it comes to listening to a Fallen Soul.

The Ghost kneels before her crumpled form, the skull covering his face glinting in the darkness. A long time ago, seeing him like this, lowered at her own level, would have satisfied her ; showered her in a grandeur a part of her has always wished to know, laced with a taste of Paradise. Now, it’s nothing more than sickening. His smile, given away by the obvious crinkling of his eyes, brings a storm of Chaos in her already fractured mind, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to forget this feeling. Trembling hands rise to grip the short strands of blonde hair of the Fallen, dragging him down to properly face her snarl.

- You poor, pitiful bastard. Why do you keep laughing at me as if it’s all your life has been reduced to ?

She wants her voice to be sharp and cruel ; but it only sounds lifeless, washed away by her exhaustion. The rough edges of a laugh bark inside the abyss of her skull. Her muscles suddenly tense like bowstrings, tightening her grip on his hair.

- Ya think Beasts were once made to live the grandest o’ lives ?

Her jaw snaps shut. Before she even realises it, her arms fall abruptly to her side, their strength devoured by the demon’s words.

- Or do ya think your Destiny is only made o’ ruins ?

The smile dancing in his eyes is much softer now, and it’s as if he had lost the usual malice lingering in his heart. Her own heart skips a beat at the sight, so out of place among such devastating surroundings. It’s a terrifying thing to point out, she thinks, probably the most acrid of all.

Blood covered lips twist in uncertain disgust at the thought.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

She hates him. She hates him. She hates him.

A metallic flavour melts on her tongue, crude and molten, burning her senses through the gut-wrenching wish to fearlessly face his playful, mocking truths. She can barely feel her limbs ; but she feels the bruises blooming on her skin, born from the war and chaos she keeps tearing through on the daily. In the Ghost’s eyes, the mix of such somber colours, full of meaning and ache, holds a beauty he’s never been able to name.

Her clothes get heavier under the amount of blood pooling through their fibres ; but so do his, and neither of them could tell which crimson belongs to whom. The thought carves a smile behind his mask - doesn’it it make it all so much more interesting ?

- One day, she snarls, you’ll be judged.

An endless cacophony of whistles drills through her head. She knows nothing of the issue of their fight ; but it won’t stop her from clawing at both her freedom and her peace. She fishes her weapon out of the decaying puddles rippling around her knees, and holds it at his throat.

- And I’ll bury you a thousands times under the weight lining the Jackal’s scales.

The entity looks at the blade with mocking interest. A spark of danger dances in his lifeless eyes, only growing brighter as they lock onto hers. He notices the way her features are pulled tight by a bottomless rage. Disarming her is simple, done in the blink of an eye, and he wonders if she’s really going down the path that will lead her to surrender. If she’ll do it willingly, or if she’s still going to fight - if so, how long do they have left ? He knows this question has also crossed her mind, sees it in the tremble of her hands. Even like this, now laying under him like a mouse under a wolf, he finds the young woman to be more than a mesmerizing sight.

She could easily be mistaken for some kind of divinity, he thinks, and it almost makes him laugh. The sounds, unfamiliar and rough, mimics the memory of what used to be a beating heart in the depths of his chest.

How long ago was it ? The last time he ever felt alive ?

Did he ever ?

Now, he’s supposed to be close to death - or a vessel for it, even. A being of rage and torment, made for walking in a world of destruction and pain, for leaving a path of decay in his wake. He feels it all, yet he isn’t allowed to die. A part of him probably wishes he was ; but he forgot about it since the moment it was sent to lay dormant beyond his consciousness. He doesn’t even know if he’ll ever be able to find it again. If it still exists.

His attention zeroes back in on the desperate soul laying in front of him. The armor she keeps covering herself with is has once again been reduced to shreds by their never-ending fights. There isn’t an inch of her skin that hasn’t been covered in dirt. He takes in the sight before lowering his face next to hers, his rough whisper floating in her ear.

- Oh, lil’ Snowflake.

I can’t wait.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Tonight, her favourite restaurant is filled to the brim.

The happiness of her family’s voice gets lost in the cacophony floating through the room. Everything around her is blurred with exhaustion ; but his presence is crystal clear. Behind her, sitting in the shadows of a decorative curtain, the Ghost is patiently waiting for an opportunity to strike. The more time passes, the more easily she can see him in her mind. It’s a stupid game - one they both keep playing, wondering who will break and speak first. Allow the other in.

Maybe the day will come when they finally become one - simultaneously taking a bite of the poisoned apple.

This cruel temptation may be the reason why she’s cursed, she thinks, an invisible wall slowly forming between her world and the one spreading in front of her, filled with the laughter of her loved ones. Her life is made of painful memories, witnesses of a will to live that never really was. The idea that her future could be the same, tainted with the kind of horrors nobody else can see, is terrifying - injects even more corruption in her veins, lungs and bones. A rusty sword dangles above her neck, ready to cut one half of her existence and leave the other to suffer through a ruthless agony, trapped under the weight of its metallic carcass.

She’s not yet ready to drown in her own damnation, but the somber waters never cease to rise. The black tide finds pleasure in torturing her, filling her trachea to the brim before throwing her back to the surface. It cackles madly as she drags her disjointed puppet of a body on the shore, proud of the violence it keeps subjecting her to.

When she thinks about it, the young woman often realises how far back in time this curse goes. It seems to plunge its roots in her very origins, as if vowing to forever haunt her dreams with visions of madness, horrifying and useless prophecies that could have made sense had she been born in humanity’s most ancient of times. But the old Oracles are no more. So she swallows the twisted sights piling in her soul, and fills her daily life with empty smiles. A normality that was never hers.

Her demons were born alongside her. And they will never meet their end unless she succumbs to her own fall.

She saw many strange things and fought an equal amount of nightmares ; she shouldn’t allow any of this to affect her so badly. But it’s in her nature to think and feel, way too much even, which makes her an easy prey to the eyes of Those Who Fell. One of them trails behind her, melts within her shadow. He wants to devour her life even more than any of the others will, and refuse to let her breathe. He knows which string to pinch in order to make her fall, which melody to play to stir up her rage. He forces her to run within his -her- darkness, to get lost in its endless expanse, to confuse herself until she doesn’t know which path she is following anymore ; abandon or redemption. Like an offspring of Eris, he finds pleasure in throwing the apple of discord between her and the world she desperately tries to belong to.

His very presence used to terrify her. But time decided to drop some hatred in the bottomless goblet of her fears, birthing a futile perseverance at the bottom of her guts.

A few seconds fly past her eyes before the vacant chair to her left silently creaks under the invisible weight of the entity. As always when he manifests himself in public, she barely spares him a glance. A part of her wonders if he would act the same, should the roles be reversed. She came to find a peculiar kind of comfort in his freezing presence and the familiar thoughts he brings.

In front of her, her uncle barks out a laugh at a waiter’s joke, tearing her away from her thoughts. Leaning forward to examine the enticing content of her newly-delivered plate, she feels the demon do the same against her back, reminding her of his presence through the cacophony of her thoughts. Usually, she would curse him without hesitation. But right now, this is not something she can afford to do ; not when she has to play pretend in front of her family’s peace.

An invisible hand settles on her wrist as her free hand rises a spoonful of rice to her mouth, allowing the Ghost to measure her tired heartbeat. It sometimes launches itself to a full gallop whenever she has to speak or a sudden crash emerges from the restaurant’s kitchen. Following the same rhythm as the drumming in her ears. The bloodied melody always takes its time to fall back to a steadier beat, and the thoughts that follows hold a suffering the Ghost likes to decipher.

A secret message. A call for help, written in the trickiest of codes.

What a beautiful song, he thinks, burning with chaos ; and the young woman barely restrains the twist of her features when his mockery echoes in her already overflowing mind, threatening to worsen the migraine lingering around her skull.

How good is it to fight anyway ? She sometimes murmurs to herself, shutting off the cackles echoing in the back of her mind. Is the darkness really that bad ?

Maybe her feelings are getting the best of her. Maybe the idea of surrendering to the enemy’s claws comes from the loneliness nesting behind her heart, the one pushing her to more or less willingly seek the Ghost’s company. Maybe she’s simply imagining the spark of sympathy that sometimes dances in his gaze. A part of her insists that there can’t be any light without darkness, and vice versa ; but maybe she’s just reading in-between lines that don’t even exist.

Maybe all these thoughts are the result of another manipulative ambush orchestrated by her demons.

To hell with all those beings made of impurity and fake divinity ! She exclaims silently while laughing at a story she didn’t really hear. Those monsters corrupting the innocents’ dreams, immolating them with waves upon waves of sinful flames, leaving a salty, rotten taste on the remnants of their tongues ! They find happiness in Their victims’ despair, cooing at the ruins of their broken hopes, recalling the misadventures of Icarus and the other mortals They disgraced with Their attention. Be careful to not burn yourself, they cackle and rasp. The phoenix went extinct eons ago ; it’s now impossible to come back from your ashes.

Lie, little dream, lie, the Divine laughs ceaselessly as she surrenders herself to a hopeless optimism. Why not hide yourself behind an illusion ?

Lie, little dream, lie. Why not become a nightmare ?

Run. Dodge. Strike. Fight.

Sometimes, she wonders if her throat isn’t laced with a red string - the kind that, one day, will inevitably be the end of her.

She often turns around to catch a glimpse of it, in an elusive reflection in the mirror, or in the corner of her vision. She read dozens of stories worshiping it as the proof that true love is far from being a myth, saying that seeing it means one’s soulmate is nearby. But only in dreams can such things really exist.

And, sometimes, even dreams can lie.

For the spectre of her destiny created the thread with a mix of love and hate, of strength and cowardice ; a foreign intimacy made to drown them as one. The kind of thing that, should she ever share it with the world, would only be the source of laughter and disdain. She would probably be punished for her lack of gratitude for the life she was given.

Each breath is constantly filled with a bloodcurdling fear of simply existing. Her body never ceases to quake, trapping air in the expanse of her lungs and struggling to let it out. A thousand bear-traps snap at her flesh as she tries to keep pursuing her future, this vision she never really manages to see clearly. She sometimes think about tightening the string around her throat, deepen its colour with the moisture of her own blood ; yet it seems content with just grazing her skin in a satire of love, constantly feeding the frustration nestled in her breast. She never knows if it will ever be merciful enough to slash her neck open.

The Ghost holding the other side of the crimson line is dangerous, murmurs a voice resembling her own. One wrong move would be enough for him to send her over the edge. A clumsy step to the side. A benevolent mistake.

She often notices the small knot clashing with the dull porcelain of his skin. He likes teasing her by wrapping the string around his palm, adding enough pressure to have it leave a rugged caress on her neck ; to remind her of its presence. She loathes the cruel smile that carves his face open when he catches her off-guard, causing her to lift her hand towards her own knot.

She despises them all : him, the world, her Destiny. And she hates her own inability to get rid of the miasma plaguing her mind ; the way her empathy whimpers whenever her eyes follow the never-ending scars mapping the body of the Ghost ; the whispers that make her realise how similar they are to one another.

They are nothing more than two sinners looking for a reason to live.

Looking for redemption.

- Ya know we’ll always be bound to each other, Snowflake, the entity says, cackling in her ear. Why do ya always try to ruin whot canno’ be destroyed ?

Her blood boils as she presses her frozen palms against his throat with a snarl, as if trying to force him into silence by imitating the thread caging her own pulse. She knows how futile it looks, knows the fruits born from this endeavour will hold the bitterness of her failure. Yet she refuses to crumble under the mocking weight of his words, for it would be surrendering to the way this rotten world keeps trying to send her into exile.

The gravel of his voice resonates against her palms.

- No’ tired of fightin’ a ghost ?

Her teeth sharpen into her mouth as he coils an arm around her waist, locking her body against his. She can’t stop a shiver from rolling down her spine ; and, unable to decide if she can really allow herself to savour the frozen warmth of his skin, her fingers tighten around his breath. His Adam’s apple makes a mould of its own shape in the crevices of her hands.

Yet he doesn’t even flinch.

- ‘Ow many times did you try to run away from me, darlin’ ? To make me fall, only to fail ?

- Shut up.

- Wouldn’t take much for us to bend this world to our will. Think abou’ it : we could face ‘em, ‘and in ‘and, laugh at ‘em until our voices break. Take the clay they used to create their dreams with and burn everythin’ with ours.

- Shut. The fuck. Up !

Yet no amount of resistance seems to tarnish his fantasies of despair. She barely has the time to blink before he slips behind her back, his breath burning incandescent holes against her ear. His hollow heart beats silently against her spine - and her arms fall limp against her sides, getting tangled with the crimson rope circling around them.

- We could make our own miracles, he whispers, never letting go of his decaying thoughts.

A broken cackle tears through her clenched teeth.

- So now you want to play like a God ?

One of his hands, torn open by countless cursed knots, comes to circle the neck of his prey. His smile drips into the passion lining his voice, and she can almost feel him against her cheek as his massive frame leans over her shoulders. Their spines could fuse with each other without her even realising it, she thinks, feeling her back crack under her demon’s weight. She wonder if they are now worthy of the crumbling statues haunting the temple of her mind.

- Why no’ ? He says, and her legs suddenly go numb.

The Ghost breaks her fall without any effort, taking advantage of her now lethargic state to hold her tight against his heart. He presses a kiss against her cheek, slowly savouring the taste of a frustrated tear.

- Why couldn’t we be our own Divine ?

Crimson now runs towards the very center of her soul, and she can’t do anything but dive into the motlen marble of the Ghost’s eyes.

Another fight is coming to an end.

Her human heart pumps with an overjoyed frenesy as its end nears once more, but the Hunter is far from glad as she realises said end is nothing more than an illusion coated in sulfur. The entity can see the suffering dancing in her eyes, now reddened by the tears she refuses to set free. The Fates could slice their mutual despair open with a laugh whenever they want ; but they have yet to do so, and he wonders if they enjoy watching the both of them struggle to stay afloat.

- Slowly now, he whispers, slightly loosening his grip to erase the dull ache throbbing in-between her ribs. Wouldn’t be wise to exhaust yourself withou’ me.

A part of him would probably qualify this role of his of Apathy, or Disinterest ; bury himself in a litany of lies to play the perfect villain, always finding a new excuse to justify the satisfaction he gets out of it all. Try to convince himself of how none of this, her, Them, deserve even a shred of his attention. But he knows that, somewhere in what’s left of his angelic heart, slumbers the reality of a longing, a thirst for love and touch he refuses to see. And she knows it too.

He silences the feeling again, covering it with words dripping with his own broken kind of sarcasm.

- This world doesn’t make any sense if you’re not ‘ere.

A sickening growl shakes her guts as she takes in what she refuses to hear. It dies before reaching her lips.

- What a liar, she grumbles, her voice and mind fading more and more with each syllable. You’re just a fucking liar.

The smile he offers her is nothing short of carnivorous, and through it, she could almost make out the virtuous remnants of what used to be his soul. He presses a searing kiss over the bloodied foundation covering her shoulder, incredibly soft despite the sharp, mesmerizing coldness haunting his each and every word.

- C’mon, lil’ Hunter. Give up.

And this time again, the taste of victory flows bitterly against his tongue.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

When she opens her eyes, her room is nothing but silence, and the chaos of her bed seems covered in a thin layer of ice.

Her entire body is being crushed by an invisible weight as countless shivering waves run along her skin. A choir of ghosts dance in the corner of her vision, their laughter echoing through the walls of her skull. A frozen, corrupted substance flows through her still slumbering veins.

Why is it so cold ?

Her breath quickens as she fights to keep a semblance of control over the ruins of her mind. A sea of urchins is tearing her trachea apart, and she would love to feel her hands smash their spikes through her throat - yet nothing seems to even think of taking pity on her. A river slowly starts running down her frozen cheeks, its flow carrying her thoughts away like a hurricane would a twig, as if trying to drown her in her own mind.

An earthquake suddenly takes over the marble of her hands, and she doesn’t know if it is caused by the ambiant cold or the thunder wreaking havoc inside her ribcage. The magma that was once slumbering in her chest is now trying to escape through her every pore ; and it burns, scorches her insides over and over again as the volcano bursts along with her tears, threatening to carve a new rift on the surface of her heart.

Crushed by her ribs, her lungs refuse to work properly. A pungent breath bites through her bones, as if trying to corrupt even the marrow hiding behind their calcified walls. Her own existence is hoping to tear the guts out of her humanity’s rotting corpse. The decline of a heart filled with despair is tragic enough to become the muse of countless poets and their sonnets ; yet there’s no glory in the mourning of what we once used to be, she thinks, especially when Life itself drinks our tears with a crooked smile painted on its mask of comedy.

Next to her, the mattress sinks. Her eyes, burned by the salt of her tears, can barely make out the dark silhouette leaning over her ; but she doesn’t need them to feel and know who it is. The Ghost lays a burning hand on her cheek, and something inside of her desperately tries to anchor itself to this touch she subconsciously learned to look for amidst the storm.

A somber look covers the entity’s features as his fingers meet the ice of her hands. She’s a warrior ; one he’s used to fight almost every single day. Seeing her in this state is almost disturbing, for he quickly realises there is nothing left of her usual hostility. The Flood swallowed it all.

For once, he’s not the source of her distress, and this train of thought leaves a strange feeling in its wake. Is it rage ? Jealousy ? A mix of both ? It doesn’t matter. The Divine is not allowed to toy with a prey that isn’t Its own.

She barely has the strength to utter a single sound as he takes hold of the fragility of her fingers to bring them to his own neck. The mocking spectres dancing around them suddenly cease all movement. They even seem to disappear the second she starts feeling the echo of a pulse under the scars littering his skin, the confusing proof of the decomposing existence of a life filled with darkness. Its rhythm is slow, silent, ghostly. It gently lulls her mind, offering a blessed shelter against the violent winds.

Her own demon tries to hold her head out of the water ; a situation that would have made her laugh had her throat not be so parched.

- What did it taste like, she finally croaks out as her hand ghosts over his skin, the despair that made you fall ?

Was it similar to the fear haunting the surface of my lips ? Will you end up smearing it on my tongue to break what might be left of my humanity ? Will you be seated on the Emperor’s throne on the highest part of the infernal Coliseum in the middle of which I will inevitably be forsaken ?

Or will I be the one to guide you towards the light ? Will I be able to let you taste the ambrosia of peace I keep looking for ? And if it indeed ends up touching your lips, will I even realise it ?

- Like my own blood, the Ghost says, and she notices the peculiar softness that has replaced the usual sarcasm tainting his voice. Wan’ to try it ?

The kiss he offers her is like a cruel salvation ; a source of comfort immediately shattered by waves of chaos blooming into her soul. It leaves a sour taste on her tongue, akin to a tragedy leaving a trail of weeping arteries and broken bones in its wake. Like the smoking remnants of a battlefield, she thinks, witnessing the horrors she went through ; the nightmares haunting her sleep. A series of erratic visions displayed on the dark screen of her eyelids.

It tastes like the beginning of the end, murmurs a voice lost in the torn expanse of her mind, and she finds herself submerged by the need for more.

The warmth of his skin slowly melts the ice imprisoning her. Yet the tension running between them still has the red thread tightening around their throats, and a part of her refuses to see how good it could be to let him drag her down into his own flames. Let them be hers.

She only now sees the strange pattern they created, made from both violence and peace, love and hatred, as well as a guilty freedom tightening around her guts.

The Ghost probably noticed it too. Even when they exchange words filled with mockery and blood, he always ends up savouring the harsh touch of her hands pulling his teeth back towards her neck. And slowly, surely, he unwinds the knots holding her spirit together, only to tie them up all over again as she wakes up from a familiar anesthesia. A predatory smile carves itself against her neck, sharp teeth threatening to break both her body and soul - progressively widening the rift in the facade she desperately tries to keep in place.

- Relax, luv, he whispers, his abyssal timbre sending shivers down her spine.

His hands clutch every single one of her curves with a desperation she has yet to understand. His fingers seem to reach for her very soul, claws moulding her body to his will. Their hearts dance with each other as he holds her to his chest, exploring the expanse of her back as if he was discovering it for the first time. His breath leaves a scorching ache on her shoulder, and she wonders how his touch keeps getting even more delicious each time.

She lets out a cry as his fingers find her core. Her teeth coax a vicious growl from his throat as they sink into his flesh, and the Ghost drinks up every trembling breath dripping past her lips. A rumble echoes deep within his chest as she loses herself against him, her nails leaving crimson rivers down his neck.

The cold haunting her is now long forgotten. The ice shatters under the Ghost’s fangs, and, for a second, he draws his eyes towards the darkness of the room. They mercilessly pierce the remnants of the now silent spectres that tried to steal his perfect prey. Their silhouettes finally vanish completely ; at the same time, a shuddering whimper shakes the body resting in the iron of his grasp.

- Let’s show ‘em who ya belong to.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Choke.

She feels more than she sees the way her palms turn white under the assault of her own nails. Her heart never slows its erratic rhythm, forcing the mud coating the surface of her lungs to pulse along its beat. A few centimeters away from hers, the Ghost’s chest rumbles with a laugh.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands, he thinks ; she’d just need to strengthen her will. She could take over this infernal game and make it eternal, let the Divine Creations burn and burn, turn into a lake of sterile ashes. Ring the final bell and have its sepulcral cries echo in the bones of the Gods. Create her own version of a happy ending.

The world could crumble so easily in-between her hands ; for her determination is a synonym of destruction. And They know it. They are the ones who sent him to her, trying to make her fall. Did They even think he’d try to make her his instead ? To turn her against Their pathetic idea of glory ?

But he has yet to win. An infuriating reality. You should already be dead, he wants to scream, why do you refuse to yield ?

She only looks up at him through the darkness lining her eyes, ignoring the nauseating feeling of her life bleeding along her skin - leaving a series of darkening trails along the porcelain of her bones.

- What about you ? She says, and it’s like she’s reading his thoughts. It’s not like you’re doing much.

And it’s true. He torments her, brings her down over and over through countless excruciating fights. Strikes her weakest spots, both in her body and soul. Yet he knows it’s far from being enough. He wants to see how long she’ll last, what will end up being his coup de grâce ; but maybe a part of him wants her to live, achieve what his distant, decaying memory tells him he was never able to even touch.

His fangs scrape painfully against each other. Under the mask, his jaw is covered with the blood of the lives he took. Hers soaks through his clothes, skin, muscles and bones - but it has yet to taint his teeth, coat the walls of his stomach. He is the reason why his ideas haven’t been brought to light. He knows it well, perhaps he has even acknowledged it.

- You could reign over this world and you know it, she adds weakly, her voice breaking over the words she doesn’t even really need to articulate.

She doesn’t know if she’s glad to still be alive despite the fact that her body should already be lost six feet under, or if she wishes it would be the case.

- You have the power to bring your every desire to life. Make it a perfect reality.

Her muscles weaken with every second that runs through their fibres. Her lungs, filled with a dark, freezing darkness, beg to breathe in even the slightest amount of oxygen as her chest crumbles with exhaustion. Despite all of this, the Hunter refuses to sway, ignoring the waves of pain crashing against her bones. She tries to stand proud in front of the Ghost, feeling him watch intently as she fights against herself. But her legs crack and stumble ; and his reflexes are a perfect proof of his inhumanity when he launches himself forward to catch her, preventing her from shattering her already broken self on the rubble at their feet. He holds her tight against him, letting out a deep, mocking laugh - yet refusing to let her go.

They both know why.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

A flash of silver.

A familiar sting.

A salty tear.

Another wave of crimson crashes against the porcelain of her skin, violently, beautifully. The puddle swirling around her knees reflects the pathetic face of a broken doll. Her limbs are numb, unable to feel the rain hitting them as if it was trying to avoid her, only aiming for the floor. For a second, she wonders if a Divinity is crying for her Destiny, but the thought quickly falls quiet, silenced by a muted laugh. The Gods never pity their mortals.

Her soul falls into pieces once more on the marbled concrete at her feet, and the faraway echo guides her eyes up towards the sky. The adrenaline born from the usual fighting is slowly starting to fade. On the edges of her blurry vision, the Ghost draws his familiar silhouette out of the fog. The misshaped sarcasm she throws his way doesn’t make him flinch the slightest, making her wonder if this nightmarish entity didn’t place much more faith in her than she ever will.

What a stupid thought, they both whisper, the only thing breaking them apart being the usual snarky smile she forgot to wear to hide her ever-dampening cheeks.

- Ya know you’ll have trouble hidin’ those blood stains, right ? The demon says, kneeling to her side.

A soft sound escapes her lips, scorching hot compared to the rain.

- It’d be useless anyway.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Cry.

She wakes up with a start and a silent scream as sweat runs coldly down her chest. There’s a dry, violent pounding in her skull, enhanced by a laughing tide of cramps tearing her bones apart, its echo bouncing around her sleeping muscles. Despite the confusion lingering in her brain after what is probably her third nightmare of the night, she registers a warmth laying next to her, one she’s surprised to see at this hour. A part of her expected him to come and go as he pleases like he always does - never taking the time to stop, even for a moment. But in the end, him being here isn’t that surprising. Just like her, he’s never been able to leave her side for too long.

Maybe they’ve become each other’s haven among the mayhem of this world.

She shivers violently has she buries her face under the covers once more, ignoring the sweat lingering on her skin. Her hands whiten with the strength she uses to scratch at her scalp, hoping to lose her thoughts among the apocalyptic landscape of her bed. Find an anchor outside of the dreamworld.

- It’s impossible to fully heal, isn’t it ? She whispers more to herself than anything, even though she knows how light of a sleeper the Ghost is. No one can really forget.

Almost immediately, she feels him move against her shoulder, silently turning around to meet her form ; small and trembling under a nameless terror. Pathetic, he would usually laugh, but his own scars burn so viciously that he can only clench his teeth as he faces her pain. Is that empathy twisting his guts ?

What he would do to forget that thought.

- If ya want to forget tha’ badly, I might ‘ave a solution or two.

The Silence is loud as she nods slowly, tiredly. Seeking refuge in the sulfur of his touch.

- Please, she says, quaking as his hand smears layers upon layers of charcoal upon her hips, don’t you wish for the same ?

His lips fall upon the curve of her neck, barely restraining the fangs hiding behind them from piercing the already bruised skin ; reveal the raw pulse hiding underneath.

- Yes, he answers, barely daring to break the erratic rhythm of his breath - and, once more, feeling her melt through the peculiar love of his hold.

When traitorous Morpheus finally takes control over her mind, the sun has already broken through the night, painting the firmament in blinding hues of blue, devoid of any cloud. It claws mercilessly at the Ghost’s eyes, tears a low growl from his chest. On the other side of the window, the world rises to a mix of car engines, footsteps and voices, involuntarily celebrating the light that is constantly trying to burn him to ashes.

The sky has no reason to be blue, he thinks as his forehead meets the window pane, just like his Snowflake has no reason to sigh so serenely in his presence. The atmosphere is soft, warm ; dragging a wave of shivers down his back. A frustrated growl escapes his throat, the night of his eyes sparkling at the taste of a familiar rage. That celestial blue is silently looking down on him, mocking his darkness.

He loathes it.

He loathes her.

A second is enough for his knee to dig into the covers once more, giving him enough support to guide his fingers towards her face. They slowly dance along her skin as the weight of his very existence makes the mattress whimper, before roughly circling her neck. Her blood pumps peacefully under his touch, and his own voice screams in the back of his mind, distorted and rough.

Do it. Take her. Rid us of this nuisance.

His tongue soothes the cracks covering his lips, and a twisted smile eventually slices them open once more as the words settle in his thoughts.

But in her sleep, the Hunter moves - and his excitement dies as quickly as it came to live. She breathes in deeply, her head lolling against the pillows. Instead of braving for a fight like she usually does, she lets her subconscious raise a hand to his wrist, as if she was trying to offer him her silent support.

But that’s not what he wants. That’s not what he is.

What happened to this poor human that fought mercilessly against him, fueled by an endless determination ; the one who bared her broken teeth in his face through a bloody sneer, ready to turn his words against him and burn his entire being to ashes ?

He loathes the way his own mind whispers those words in his ears, exchanging it’s usual coldness for a dry melody made of anger and fear that makes his hold tremble around his Snowflake’s throat. The peculiar understanding they both came to. The doubts this small, vulnerable thing keeps planting in his soul. The fact that he can’t make any sense of the abyss bubbling in his head anymore

So he staightens up, ignoring the way his spine crackles as he makes his way out of this way too-familiar room. He almost expects a knife to dig through his back, to whistle in retaliation for engaging in an unfair fight. Give him a taste of his own medicine, in a way. A painful warning. So he waits.

But nothing comes.

A glance over his shoulder shows that the Hunter hasn’t moved a single inch. She still lays there, swallowed by a capharnaüm of blankets, her sleep-laden breath so slow it barely disturbs the quiet of the room. Her favourite plushie is curled on top of her head, like a guardian trying to keep its treasure from the merciless claws of a nightmare. A fitting description, he thinks, realising it’s probably been months since she slept so soundly.

His teeth strain under the sudden pressure of his jaws. This is the exact kind of peace he is starting to see in the eyes of his prey - as if she was in the process of surrendering, giving up her life to his now familiar hands. He doesn’t understand how she can bring herself to look at something like him and feel so serene. It makes him want to keep her for himself even more, taint the corrupted purity of her soul. He knows she can feel it ; so why does she treat him with so much tenderness ? Even more so after the hell he’s been dragging her through while laughing at her tears ?

A sour smile loses itself to the her sleepy silence as he turns back to sit on the edge of the bed. Perhaps the only reason why he wants her to be his is to understand her better. And once he does, he might finally be able to grasp how similar the chaos brewing in their hearts is. Forging their souls from the same steel.

Or perhaps the roles will change, and he will become nothing than a frail and vulnerable lamb. An easy prey caught in the destructive jaws of the Hunter.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Think.

Above her, a string of neons blink.

The young woman has no idea of what pushed her to once again get lost in the smelly bathroom of this nightclub - the one her friends keep dragging her to. Her eardrums haven’t stopped ringing violently ever since she stepped foot through its doors - perhaps because of the music that’s way too loud for her senses, the multicolored lights tearing at her retinas, or the uncontrollable amount of blurry faces swinging way too close for her comfort.

She doesn’t belong here.

Despite the nauseating swaying of her vision, she notices a more-than-familiar silhouette lingering in a corner of the room. He seems way too big for fit comfortably in the small space, engulfing it completely with his darkness. A stark contrast to the colorful graffiti littering the walls.

- ‘Ow many times do ya plan on makin’ tha’ back an’ forth between the dancefloor and this shithole ?

If the mockery in his tone only serves to irritate her more than she already is, the young woman doesn’t have the strength to meet the Ghost’s eyes. Instead, she stares at her own reflection among the suspicious dirt covering the mirror dangling on the wall, akin to a failed portrait made by a drunk painter. She thinks about taking a picture and submit it to the first museum of contemporary arts she stumbles upon, to top it off with a ridiculous title. Who knows - with a little bit of luck, she could maybe earn a little bit of money. Make it easier to reach the end of the month.

As that thought runs sarcastically through her mind, she ignores the dry chuckle rasping from the corner behind her.

Somewhere beyond the door, the DJ makes a poor transition to another music she barely recognizes. All that’s left in the tired void of her mind is the struggle of her own existence and the calm breathing of the entity, wafting against her neck despite the small distance between them. Her eyes meet once again the cracked lights in the mirror, and she can almost see it pulsating against the wall along the beat coming from the next room. The music keeps screaming in the rancid air, and her blood almost crystallizes in her veins when it’s joined by a chorus of screeches and whistles.

- I need to get away from here, she says, knowing the Ghost heard her despite the ambiant chaos.

She can feel him shift behind her as she reaches towards the dilapidated door with a trembling hand, desperately trying to shut off the pain lingering in her marrow.

- Let’s fuck off then, he answers almost immediately, and she wonders if he, too, hopes to get rid of a loud ringing in his ears.

She barely has the time to step out of the bathroom that she’s assaulted by the sounds, the smells, the touches. The singing voices and bodies burnt by an impossible amount of toxic liquids and smokes, a violent choir telling her to get away, away, away - GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE ; and she has no idea of which is stronger between the screams of the nightclub or the cries of her heart. Almost instinctively, she reaches behind her, seeking a destructive yet familiar contact in the hand of the entity following her. But her pride is a powerful force, and her arm stays stuck to her side.

Yet the Ghost knows her well. He feels what she does as if he was the one living inside her head ; and he kind of is, in a way. Perhaps he is the one feeling all of this, and not her ? He quickly silences the thought, enveloping her hand with the charcoal covering his own, squeezing so tight it’s almost painful.

It soothes an ache in his own non-existent heart. He wonder if she knows, feels, everything about him too.

Another nightmare comes running down his back ; a memory, the laughing spectre of what used to be a majestic pair of wings, which he used to fight in the Divine’s name until It abandoned him to his own abyss, tore his feathers apart to burn them to ashes in the flames of Its arrogance.

He almost feels the need to throw his eyes into another mirror shining below the erratic lights, as if the crevices running along its surface could give him what he lost ; a new kind of feathers, way too sharp for the immaculate hands of the Gods. But the Hunter keeps walking, dragging him along.

And the Ghost follows. For she’s his only shelter in this bubble of suffering they both unvoluntarily insist on sharing.

Run. Dodge. Fight. Think.

How do you mourn a devastating loss when you’ve never had anything to lose ?

Tell an Angel a tale of love, and they will carry it in their dreams. Listen to the beating of their heart, akin to a bird’s song celebrating the rising sun. Watch the molten gold reflecting off the ink of their blood drop from the wounds their longing for such a feeling caused. Realise how beautiful the depths of their darkness is, abyssal and mesmerizing ; how empty it all is, devoid of any sense.

The Ghost isn’t too different, he who lives thanks to those who unknowingly need him, who convinced himself that he was made to serve their torment. His very existence is proof that, if he can’t find a soul to pull him forward, he is nothing ; which is why he looks for his redemption through countless paths made from wounds that aren’t his. He dips his feet in puddles tainted by the blood of mortals, the crimson life -and death- of those whose hatred and suffering only serve to fuel his own.

A long time ago, he forgot what it’s like to love.

Maybe he remembers the meaning of caring for someone. But does that mean his feelings were once given back to him ? The thought is both ridiculous and horrifying ; a description that fits him well, too. It has become impossible for him to get rid of the impression that, if he one day decides to let go of the his Snowflake, these shreds of memories would also slip through his fingers.

So he holds on, so strongly that his knuckles whiten and crack under the corrupted ink of his skin. He doesn’t know whether or not he could speak of love - if he should. Behind the deformed skull covering his face, the entity hides a terrified snarl.

Sometimes, alone in his own darkness, all of this makes him laugh. How lucky he is to have something to fear, something to drive him forward ! And how undeserving he is of it, Fallen that he is, he who fell so long ago in a bottomless well of which he will never get out !

During his most vulnerable moments, laying down next to the Hunter among the chaos of her bed, he lets his doubts break through his voice.

- You’re mine, aren’t ya ? He asks, and she murmurs something he can’t catch before clearing her throat.

- Yeah, she answers sleepily, I’m yours.

Her hands get lost in the gaping scars littering his back, and he allows himself to be lulled by such a light touch, devoid of the usually anxious trembling interrupting her days. Among his sighs, now peaceful thanks to this intimacy they barely think to share, his muscles tense periodically. She feels more than she sees the earthquake hidden behind the baritone notes of his voice ; and she knows his fears too well, these nightmares that keep trying to shatter the pieces of her heart. She can almost see his eyes look for an answer she might not really dare to give him, for she almost knows him better than she knows herself ; and vice versa. Or maybe not, whispers and echo that sounds eerily close to a mix of their voices, but she refuses to torment the already too twisted soul of the Ghost.

What made you like this ? She sometimes yearns to ask. Who made you into those ruins of a man, constantly trying to drown you in a bottomless abyss ?

But she knows she will never be brave enough to loudly articulate those questions, even if he might already know about them. So she settles for snuggling against his peculiar warmth, covering the tangle of their bodies with a toasty piece of her covers, not really knowing which one of them she is trying to bring comfort to. A yawn escapes her lips as she holds him against her chest like a damaged, oversized plushie - not unlike the one sleeping peacefully next to her head.

- And you’re mine.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

The era she lives in is made of corruption and greed, she thinks, its horrors rivalling with the ones found in the deepest pits of Hell itself. Or perhaps it’s a form of Paradise ? Maybe she’s nothing more than a demon hidden in a masquerade filled with pure, ancestral beings, her flaking skin gripping the velvet of her costume, threatening to tear it apart like the Gods did her soul. Maybe she’s one of the few who see the Truth hidden behind this never-ending show, this cacophony in the middle of which she’s forced to survive despite the fact she’s not meant to be there in the first place.

In a world covered in scorching waves and deadly shores, where is she supposed to find herself a halo ?

Sometimes, she wonders if the Angels of today pray when the sun rises, kneeling in front of the loud cries of their coffee machine. If the remnants of what were once sacred melodies dance in the ashes if their memory, disappearing behind the echo of the last drop falling into a cup they will never empty completely.

She wonders if their now blunt teeth break cigarette after cigarette, their ends piling up on the cold and dirty tiles of public restrooms, the walls around them covered in holy quotes they have long since forgotten. If their tongues happen to trip on the syllabes of a language they can no longer understand.

She wonders if their mouths are still filled with ambrosia, tainting every other food with a flavour they now know as forbidden. If they still remember lazing around in the middle of starry clouds, once upon a time when their glasses were never empty and their laughter ran along the skyline.

And she wonders if they would still be able to recognise their brothers and sisters behind the corrupted aura surrounding them, the foam born form the Lethe that lingers in their eyes. If they meet each other under the noses of the mortals species they now belong to, their sanded claws tearing the silky skin covering their bones, as if trying to find an illusion of peace in the ocean of confusion they are doomed to roam.

Are there even such beings, nowadays ? She murmurs. Remnants of sacred ruins destined to sway forever between their forgotten paradise and the hellish grounds they always feared ?

- You’re overthinkin’ again, a voice echoes at her side, and she can almost see two dots of dried blood light up at the edge of her field of vision.

She doesn’t even think about turning her head towards the sound, her own eyes focusing on the darkness of her ceiling.

- Would you be able to answer any of my questions ?

Her mattress suddenly caves in under a weight she now knows too well. The Ghost leans over her, a foreign expression carving his face behind the skull of his mask.

His silence is as somber as it is eloquent.

- Your fall, she insists, did it hurt ?

- ‘Course it did.

Of course it did, echoes a smiliar voice floating in the darkness. I felt my wings decompose as I tried to slow my fall down, the stars burning my fingertips over and over. My hands have been torn open by the lightning crawling around the atmosphere, and the clouds cried waves upon waves of salty tears upon my wounds. My scapulars tore the muscles of my shoulders apart, and my feathers burned among a sea of flames I once came to admire.

This nightmarish moment still haunts my entire being. I can still hear my own screams bounce around my skull, refusing to quiet down despite the passing of time and the crevices that line its walls.

Of course it hurt.

- Of course, she repeats once more with a pale voice, as if the memories twirling in her mind had always been hers.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Dream.

Angels are sacred beings, spells a voice lost in the young woman’s mind, whose wings have been carved in a block of purity, and whose feathers sway along the rhythm of a virtuous wind. It’s easy for them to lose it all. Remember this, for the next time you catch the eyes of a Fallen.

Inside the Ghost’s ribcage, a somber void sits where a heart once was. The cracks of the Genesis hide a bottomless abyss, cruel and bathed in despair. She never knows how to resist to its alluring call, the loving whispers twisting her soul and turning it into a palette of rotten watercolours.

She’s been standing in her bathroom for a long time now, watching her reflection in her foggy mirror. Her hair clings to her face, still wet from the heat of a way-too-long shower, yet she does nothing to move it. Truth be told, the reflective glass only shows her a vague, colorful shape ; but she knows herself well, so much that it has become impossible to ignore the marks lingering on her body. She’s the reason behind many of them, guided by the honeyed words of her nightmares, always so cold against the invisible flames licking at her skin.

She should run. She knows that too well. She should have started running eons ago, even, but something inside of her refuses to get rid of her chains. She could escape to the other side of the world - yet nothing could stop her from coming back to the entity that, despite their constant fighting, somehow keeps her head out of the water.

Migh’ be our Destiny, is what he always says, persuading her to stay by his side. And it could be true, for the Fates are vicious and cruel, always looking for a way to laugh at their pathetic efforts to stay afloat.

He used to be an Angel. Everyone is to meet at least one during their life, and another one after their death ; no matter its nature. The Divine no longer cares about the purity of the entities It sends to the mortal world, and might even find some pleasure in seeing the consequences of Its own failures, convincing Itself that none of them is Its fault. The Gods will always see Themselves as better than anything else, and the Ghost hopes she never forgets it.

- And there she is, he says as he steps closer to her exhausted form. Back again.

The echo of his footsteps sends shivers down her spine. A bitter taste haunts the dried walls of her throat, soon taken over by a nauseating sweetness - the kind that makes her want to hold even more of it between her teeth.

Run, the voice whispers once more. You poor little thing, it might not be too late to escape him. But she knows this regret will soon go silent, making it even more easier to stay. So she stays, unmoving as he gets closer and closer, until there’s barely an inch left between their chests.

- Tha’ was quick. Missed me tha’ much ?

His smile is impossible to describe. Her reflection is clear in the bloody lake of his eyes ; showing her the peculiar fascination that paints her features, sometimes broken by rays of doubt and desire. Their lips barely graze each other as he leans in, yet the touch is so vivid compared to everything else that the Hunter wonders if it wasn’t just her imagination.

- Your ego knows no bound, she mumbles, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

The Ghost smiles, knowing too well how captivating his inhumainty is. She constantly tries to get rid of this malicious attraction that chains the both of them, dipping her finger in the spectral thoughts whispering how much better she is than all of this, than this Fallen who knows nothing about the depths of love. It’s all an illusion, a dream created by an infernal fever. A trap. She’s aware if this - so why does it all seem so real, sometimes ? Could it be that all these silent, vulnerable moments are nothing more than the sparks of futile hope she thought was real ?

She should run. But she wants to know if there isn’t even the smallest of truthful lights hidden behind this never-ending nightmare.

- You always say that Destiny’s the reason why we’re constantly brought together, she murmurs weakly, dropping her head against the Ghost’s torso as he holds her there, hands coated in a silent tenderness. But how could that be, since I always do my best to avoid you ? How do you keep finding me ?

For a moment, the entity feels his eyes widen with surprise. He quickly hides it behind a sly smile, cruel and warm. This time, he dives even deeper to really meet her lips, and she can taste the rust that seems to haunt his every touch.

She should run. But she doesn’t. She never will.

- I jus’ follow those who are waitin’ for me, Snowflake.

She sometimes wonder if she’ll ever be able to forgive their mutual sins ; and the voice in her head cackles. You’re bound to a being that lives for this, it says, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten ? The laughter refuses to stop as she realises again and again that she’s far from being Holy - something that the Ghost knows too.

- You always save me from my demons because you want to kill me yourself, don’t you ? She asks, her words bouncing strangely around her dried throat. You’re the only Death you’ll allow me to have.

He sucks in a breath, the darkness of his features twisting under his mask. Those questions -or statements ?- rouse an unknown feeling from the void ; new, complex, indecipherable. She can almost feel his usual arrogance quiver in her own heart, abruptly hidden by the melancholic sigh crossing his lips.

After a moment of silence, the entity places a kiss on her shoulder, light as a buttefly. Something loud echoes from his thoughts, a conflict lost eons ago to the abyss, while his own silence offers no denial or confirmation. So she keeps herself quiet, holding her certainty in a corner of her blurry mind.

And in her dreams, when Morpheus laughs as he asks her if she’s found herself to be seduced by his newfound vulnerability, the exhausted Hunter simply offers him a bitter smile, drinking her own tears from a golden cup.

She no longer has an answer.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Hunter never knew a single end ; only strings of never ending realities and gargantuan burdens holding the cruel thoughts that keep laughing at her misery. Destiny has never been on her side. Which makes her laugh ; maybe she stopped believing in it too long ago to care.

She couldn’t say when exactly she lost the taste of happiness that came with the old memories of her youth. Instead, her tastebuds tremble whenever a tired and distressed breath invades her mouth in the hopes of being set free, twist under its sour flavour as she tries to swallow it. Some times are not made for sighing.

The Gods decided that she was made to wither in Chaos, but she’d rather see things differently. She doesn’t like the idea of the cruel, broken concepts They make, those that never hesitate to unleash waves of suffering on thousands and thousands of innocent souls. She tries to focus on the positive things they sometimes leave in their wake, no matter how difficult it is to find them, how easily they can crumble in her hands.

For now, she’s stopped fighting. But the cascades of her own blood are now weaved in her soul, constantly retelling tales of the wars she’s been through. She can do nothing more than to wait for the next storm. Which she does.

Among the uiverse in which she lives, comfort comes and goes however it pleases. More often than not, it goes down a path drastically different than hers, so far away that she loses sight of it. Those periods of time stretch out for so long that when this peace comes back, meeting its almost unknown silhouette triggers her reflex to fight - her soul screaming at the potential enemy standing in front of her.

Fight ! It pleads. Fight ! Fight ! Fight !

Survive !

Yet she silences it for now.

Outside of her window, the city still hides behind a thick veil of fog. As always, it should be too early for her to be awake ; but her eyes refuse to stay closed, and her mind focuses on the heavy feeling crushing her waist. The Ghost lays beside her, still fast asleep with an arm slung over her frame, his body easily engulfing hers. It’s a good opportunity for her to observe how his short, blond hair fades into the porcelain of his skin, shattered by countless scars of all colours. She dares run a hand through the blond calamity of his hair. How strange it can be, she thinks as he sighs against her breast, to sometimes boil with hatred and disdain for the other, yet still share those quiet moments of intimacy whenever the fight ends.

She used to wish for him to disappear. And yet now, she finds peace in his presence.

What happened ?

In her eyes, the entity did nothing to deserve even an ounce of kindness. He dragged her down over and over again, enjoyed building her back together only to break her again, drew tears and blood from her very soul to savour the taste. But so did she.

The Divine keeps laughing at their pain by offering them fake opportunities of redemption. But they both know they can only find their salvation in the other’s soul, walk side by side towards a new world of their own creation. If the thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, she still sees how attractive it can be to slowly burn out in the heart of the Ghost while cradling him in hers - free both of their souls of the miasma haunting them.

This is a fantasy based on nothing, cackles a distorted voice in her head. And it’s true. No matter how much they try to redeem themselves, how many times they tear their own knees apart while praying, and how many rebellions they go through in order to cut their own strings, the skies will never allow them to leave Their grasp. But they stopped caring a long time ago.

Raising a trembling arm to her eyes, the Hunter smiles. Exhaustion weighs heavy on her lips as she silently follows the too-many marks littering her skin - a familiar sight, with an ever-growing number. She realises how similar her scars are to the Ghost’s. The canvas of their bodies is covered in white lines, rugged burns and deep, purple bruises that never stop appearing, and her vision sways before she can finish counting.

Yet she can’t stop her eyes from following the crevices lining the entity’s back. They rise and hide among a valley of broad muscles, holding the memories he refuses to share. The visions he can’t forget. Her own back is probably the same. They are covered in the painful remnants of what used to be their wings, the spectres of their freedom weighing heavy against their bones.

- I know you’re awake, Ghost. Stop pretending.

She immediately feels him smile against her skin, his fangs threatening to catch on the red lines crossing her chest.

- No’ pretendin’, he answers with a low and cheeky voice. Admirin’ my work.

- Oh, fuck off.

That drives a cackle out of his throat. He could have followed up with one of his usual snarky comments, but he chooses to nuzzle the crook of her neck instead as she slowly rakes her nails along his scalp. The gesture is soft, tender - so different from the times she claws at him instead, either during their fights, or their rougher moments of intimacy. An empty glance to her face, one she tries to avoid, tells him that she probably had the same thought.

The atmosphere is strange during this morning, bathed in a shy light, but the Ghost doesn’t pay it any mind. The room is perfectly silent, and it would be a shame to ignore this opportunity to get a glimpse of her beautifully complex mind.

How many times did he see his Snowflake’s eyes hold the darker hues of a violent rage, an abyssal despair, or any other feelings she couldn’t decipher ? He reads her like an open book, so satisfyingly transparent. How beautiful it is to watch how her story writes itself to the rhythm of her thoughts, of the days they weave together ! For now, all he sees is a slow melancholy digging in-between the lines, akin to a storm brewing on the horizon. An infinite tiredness that has him silencing the teasing he was tempted to articulate.

- You miss it, don’t you ? She finally says, interrupting his observations.

She hesitates slightly, pausing in her train of thoughts. How could she summarize the entirety of their mutual struggle in one sentence ? Her own saliva becomes painful to swallow, dragging against the dry walls of her throat. It’s like a marble of lead is blocking her oesophagus, leaking the poison of doubt in her system.

- The Chaos, she continues, her voice sounding incredibly raw. You keep chasing it, but it’s getting away.

The Ghost rolls onto his back, grunting as the rust of his bones hinders his movement. She isn’t wrong. Just like Violence has tried to break her soul, his is tainted by a visceral need to ruin all order. All is boring when Peace settles in ; silent, clean. Unsufferable.

But when he looks at the Hunter and her milky scars highlighted by the rising sun, the entity thinks this moment of rest -which will obviously be too short for her tastes- isn’t that bad. He appreciates the calm floating in the air, and her presence too, even if their relationship might be far from ideal. To stay here, bathing in the misty morning glow without holding a blade to the other’s throat, is something he finds himself to enjoy quite well.

He slowly sits up, allowing his head to stretch lightly to the side. The smile he gives her is full of harmless malice.

- Ya’d miss me, eh ? If I left to pursue tha’ Chaos.

- Oh no ! Not at all !

- Always so shy, he sighs as if her reaction offended him. Neva’ sharin’ whot ya really think.

He leans above her, voice lowering, and his arm twisting in a way that can barely support his weight. It wouldn’t take much for him to fall into his previous position.

- Bu’ maybe we could create our own Chaos ?

- We already do that quite a lot, she quips back while rolling over to turn her back to him. It’s enough for me.

She feels more than she sees the way his smile now leaves his fangs on full display, showing how much he enjoys troubling the morning peace with his dark and honeyed words. He softly takes hold of her wrist, where his lips come to follow a path he now knows more than well.

- Bu’ didn’t I hold your hand ta guide ya towards peace, multiple times ?

Face halfway buried into the pillows, the Hunger grimaces. These words reflect a twisted truth, ensnare her throat like the red thread that runs along her skin.

- You hate Peace, she breathes.

- And ya know nothin’ o’ it.

Sometimes, she thinks, « dangerous » isn’t powerful enough to define the Ghost - especially when his thoughts get so close to hers. When she finally decides to meet his gaze, she finds the usual spark of arrogance dancing behind his pupils. Yet there’s also a hint of laziness and sincerity, one she seems to see more and more as time passes. Body still heavy with sleep, she raises herself towards him, and languishly runs her thumb across the traitorous curve of his lips.

- You know your offer is tempting.

Among the universe in which she lives, the Gods like to play like cowards, binding them together as one tormented soul. They both despise Them for giving them so many feelings they will never control. On one side of the coin, it’s freeing to be carried by the dangers they hold ; but on the other side, constantly standing in the eye of the storm is exhausting. Like fighting with bare hands against a raging fire.

- And I know you’re gonna refuse, Snowflake.

She simply cackles.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Hope.

She doesn’t remember much about the happy times of her childhood. The earliest memories she holds are already painful, filled with an almost visceral need to survive against the infernal obstacles that Life keeps throwing in her path. They keep repeating that it’s like this for everyone, forcing her to reduce her own armor in pieces and tear out the heart beating behind it, showing this corrupted world the gaping wounds it has to beat with ; the searing edges she had to cauterize herself in order to not bleed out on her own ; the cries she swallowed into silence to avoid being treated like a stranger to her own existence.

Maybe they’ll come to see how difficult it is for her to keep going, she thinks, to hold her head high when everything tried to drag her down.

Her eyes, circled by her tired pain, get lost in the phosphorescent stars haunting her ceiling. Their pale, green light has always been a guide, a sturdy anchor protecting her against the merciless currents of her thoughts whenever she feels like giving up. Being a Celestial must be tiring, she sometimes whispers while imagining said creatures flying among clouds and comets. She can’t imagine what it takes to bear the weight of the hopes and dreams of others when one’s has already left this world to wander in another.

She always thought she never believed in Fate ; yet when she lets herself be carried away by the abyssal timbre of her Ghost, that demon she now knows more than herself, she remembers that it’s impossible to escape its languid clutches. Sometimes, a part of her wonders if she wasn’t wrong to listen so much to her doubts.

Her body is covered in scars she is ashamed to wear. But her fight is still far from whatever ending it might follow, and something in her mind murmurs that they can’t be that bad, those white marks she shares with the Fallen she’s come to love.

Her bones crack as she turns her pillow over to meet the cool fabric of its unused side ; but it’s the touch of the entity laying on top of her that keeps making her shiver, and a light laugh escapes her when his charcoal-covered claws brush against her ribs. It’s a rare melody, and it convinces him that, somewhere, the firmament must be torn by the miraculous and silent dance of a shooting star.

His thoughts only quiet down when she slides a hand along his scalp to feel the softness of his hair, the clarity of her voice echoing through the silence.

- Don’t you want to see it from up close ? She asks, causing him to raise a curious brow.

- See whot.

- The shooting star.

The Ghost smiles, littering her skin with butterfly kisses filled with reverence. To see the one he gave his love to so eager to do the same is a beautiful feeling, and he realises how lucky they both are to have met each other while looking for a new kind of ataraxia.

- No need, he whispers, nuzzling in the crook of her neck.

I already have one.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Kill.

Run. Dodge. Strike. Live.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod au #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x female reader #fem!reader #demon!au #cod angst #angst #angst with a happy ending

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look-me · 20 days

Text

“𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑪𝑬𝑺𝑺”

masc!reader x dealer!abby

warnings: using of weed, idk what else

ーー

au: please don't mind any grammar mistakes and please cuz english its not my native language. ps. i never write a smut. also i'll probably won't correct any mistakes cuz i'm too lazy for it

(this story is shitty how can y'all read this 😭)

part 1

part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been a week since you kissed Abby, and the two of you haven’t talked at all. You’ve tried to ignore her whenever you could, but still, you didn’t want her to notice. For example, every time she replied to one of your Instagram stories, you would ‘respond’ by just liking her messages. You wanted to hang out with your usual friend group, but they got mad at you after seeing you leave with Abby that night. They accused you of being a fake friend, of stealing Abby from them—especially one friend of yours who, as you later found out, had a big crush on Abby since the first time she saw her.

“You can’t do that, Y/N! What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re my friend! Why would you do something like that to me?!”

Today, you’re hanging out with some other friends who came into town to see you after you explained what your ex-friends did and what happened with Abby after you left with her. They were shocked. They didn’t know Abby at all, but after you showed them some pictures of her, they just said,

“Y/N, she’s hot and all, but she’s a player. Don’t get attached. Just stay friends with her if you don’t want to cut her off entirely.” After that, they insisted you hang out with them to distract yourself from her.

Now, you and your friends are in a parking lot, vibing to the music blasting from the car speakers, while some other people give you and your group judgmental glances. Your friends are smoking and drinking, screaming their lungs out, singing along to the songs. While you’re laughing at their antics, you notice a girl with black curly hair, long red nails, makeup on, dressed all in black—tight top, tight pants. It’s Julia.

A long time ago, you had a little crush on her because she used to shower you with compliments, was always there for you, and every time you two hung out, it ended in a make-out session. But after you told her you were catching feelings, she started ghosting you, saying she wasn’t ready for a relationship because she had just gotten out of one. You later found out she was lying the whole time, and from that day forward, you started hating her.

"Hey," she says with that fake, innocent smile.

Fake ugly bitch.

Why does she have to ruin your moment right now?

"Hi," you mutter, not even looking her in the eyes as you sit on the ground.

"It's been a while."

"Yep," you reply, barely caring about what she says.

"Listen," she starts, her hand sliding onto your thigh, caressing it and moving up and down, dangerously close to your pussy.

You're about to push her away when—

"Hey chicas!" Manny calls out.

"Hey, Manny," she smiles, turning her head towards him.

"What are you two up to?"

"Oh, we're just talking and having fun."

"That kind of fun?" he asks with a smirk.

The girl laughs at Manny's joke and then says,

"I wish."

You whip your head to look at her, your expression dead serious and disgusted, silently screaming: Why the fuck would you say that?

"By the way, aren't you Mike's sister?" Manny asks.

"Yeah, how do you know him?" you respond, your voice clipped as you shoot him a serious and irritated look. It's not your fault you come off as mad, but Julia's presence is grating on your nerves right now.

"You know, he gives me things when my best friend can't," Manny says casually.

You roll your eyes, already tired of hearing that same old story. Every time someone says they know your brother, it's always because of the same damn reason-he's a dealer, and you're so over it.

"Okay," you reply, clearly done with the conversation.

"Okay, chicas, I'll leave you two alone now.

See you later," Manny says, heading off.

The second he's far enough away, you round on Julia.

"What the fuck was that? What's your problem?" you snap, roughly pushing her hand away from your thigh.

"Omg, Y/N! I was just joking," she protests.

"No, fuck you. You know what you did to me-treating me like I was your girlfriend, telling me l was yours, making out with me, and then saying you didn't want a relationship. You have serious fucking problems for saying that shit in front of him when I don't even know him. And you say it like it's nothing? Do you even realize how much that hurt me? Are you fucking stupid? Why are you even here anyway?"

You and Julia are in the middle of a heated argument, voices rising as you go back and forth. Your friends are still chilling with the music blasting, completely unaware of the tension between the two of you. Julia’s face is twisted with frustration, but you’re too fed up to care.

Meanwhile, Abby is at home, watching some random movie to pass the time when a notification pops up on her phone:

Manny - 2 new messages.

“Hey, pendeja”

“Wanna hang out when I’m done with some stuff?”

A new notification interrupts:

*NEW MESSAGES*

Manny: Do you know Mike’s sister?

“Isn’t she the girl you told me about? They look similar by your description.”

*image.*

Abby quickly taps on the notifications, her curiosity piqued. The image loads, and her stomach drops. It’s a picture of you and Julia, her hand resting way too high on your thigh. Abby stares at the image for a moment, her jaw tightening.

She replies instantly.

Abby: Where are you?

“In the usual parking lot we hang out at with Owen, Jordan, you know.”

“You still want to hang out?”

“Yeah, I’m picking up the others right now, be at your place in 10.”

“Okay.”

Ten minutes later, Manny pulls up at Abby’s house, and soon they’re walking through the parking lot. Abby’s eyes are scanning the crowd until she spots you, her expression darkening.

Manny heads your way, shouting, “Hey, told you I’d be back so—” He stops mid-sentence when he sees Julia kissing you, her lips pressed against yours as a soft moan escapes her. Abby freezes, her vision tunneling, anger flaring up inside her. Her fists clench as her heart pounds in her chest.

Just then, your friend Micheal calls out from the car, unknowingly saving you from the situation, “Y/N! Wanna try this drink? It’s fire!”

You push Julia away from you, wiping your mouth quickly, and stand up, turning to head toward Martin. But just as you reach for the drink, a hand snatches it away before you can grab it.

“You’re not drinking tonight,” a cold voice says.

You look up to see Abby standing in front of you, her blue eyes burning with barely-contained anger.

“Abby? What are you—“

“Shut your mouth and walk,” she snaps, throwing the drink aside before grabbing your arm. Her grip is firm, leaving no room for argument as she pulls you away from the group, forcing you to walk with her.

Your heart races as you glance back at your friends, then at Julia, but Abby doesn't care. She’s got you now, and there’s no escaping whatever comes next.

"Abby, stop."

"Manny, give me your car keys. I'll be back in a minute."

"Sure," he says, handing Abby the keys without asking any questions.

"Get in the car, Y/N."

"Abby, let me go."

She opens the car door and forces you inside. As she takes the driver's seat, you try to open the door, but she's already locked it.

"Abby, what's wrong with you? Open the fucking door!"

Abby doesn't respond. She starts the engine and speeds out of the parking lot.

"Abby, slow down!"

After twenty minutes of speeding, Abby pulls over in the middle of nowhere-no lights, no houses, just darkness all around.

"Fuck! Abigail!"

She turns on the interior light, and you look at her, scared of what might happen. You don't know if Abby is a violent person or not. Her eyes are filled with fury, and you can see she's seething with anger.

"We need to talk. Now."

"No, we don't."

"Oh yeah? So you think it's okay to ignore me and treat me like l'm a stranger?"

"Wha-"

"Don't play dumb, Y/N, and don't make any excuses. You're not even drunk."

The silence between you two grows heavier.

"Why did you stop talking to me after we kissed?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"What do you mean?"

"Abby, you have a new girl with you every two seconds. You're always having sex or making out with them in a blink of an eye." You sigh before continuing, "I felt-and still feel-like a sex toy to you."

"You're not."

"Yeah, like I can really trust you on that," you say sarcastically, turning your face to the window. "I should've never told you about my feelings. We can't work together."

"Y/N-"

"I fucking hate you, Abby. I hate having feelings for someone who would probably just use me however she likes!" You spit out, facing her again.

"I've told you many times that I don't like how you talk to me. I'm serious, Y/N. Stop."

"Abby, seriously, fuck you."

At that, she grabs your neck, nearly choking you, and pulls you two inches away from her face.

"Oh yeah? Then who is that girl? And why was she kissing you and moaning into your mouth? Why was she almost touching your pussy moments before I showed up?"

After the last sentence, you try to understand how she could have seen that, and then you connect the dots. She’s Manny’s best friend. But how?

“How do you—”

“Manny sent me a picture.”

Fuck you, manny

“It’s none of your business who she is, and I didn’t try anything with her.”

“Then why didn’t you push her away from you?” Abby says, tightening her grip on your neck slightly.

“I was shocked. She caught me by surprise.”

Abby doesn’t answer. Instead, she keeps her intense gaze fixed on you, trying to see if you’re lying.

“I was just trying to distract myself from you. Now you’re acting jealous, calling me yours, but are you mine?” you say

“What do you think?”

“You aren’t. I think we both know that, Abigail.”

Just then, your phone starts ringing with a photo of a curly haired woman —Julia — popping up.

Abby recognizes the girl and stares at you, clearly unimpressed by the timing.

“Don’t you even try to answer.”

You ignore her and answer the phone, putting it on speaker.

“Hello? Love?” Julia says, and you remain silent.

Abby looks at you and whispers, “Love? Really?”

“Julia, what do you want?”

“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I saw that girl taking you away from me while we were talking.”

As Julia continues talking, Abby starts giving you hickeys on your neck, causing you to moan intentionally. You’re so focused on the sensations that you stop listening to whatever Julia is saying.

“Are you okay, love?” Julia asks, her voice tinged with concern.

Abby pulls her head away from your neck and grabs your phone from your hand. You try to fight her, but you know Abby is hundred times stronger than you.

“She’s busy right now,” Abby says before hanging up on Julia.

“Abby, what the fuck?”

Abby doesn’t answer. Instead, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, which contains a joint and a lighter.

You know where this is going to end.

Abby leans back in the driver’s seat and brings the joint to her lips, the tip flaring orange in the complete darkness. The only sound is the faint crackle of burning paper and herb as she takes a long drag. Smoke fills the air, swirling around her in lazy spirals, barely visible in the faint moonlight that seeps through the windows. The deep, earthy scent of cannabis mixes with the musty smell of the old car seats, creating an almost comforting atmosphere. Abby exhales slowly, the smoke pouring from her mouth and nostrils, diffusing into the blackness outside. The silence is profound, with no hum of traffic or distant chatter, only the occasional rustle of wind through unseen trees. Her eyes are half-closed, her mind drifting as she stares out into the void, feeling an odd sense of peace in the isolation. She takes another drag, the glow from the joint briefly illuminating her fingers before once again merging with the surrounding darkness.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Abby remains silent.

“Are you really smoking while we’re arguing?”

Still.

“I’m done with your bullshit, Abigail. Let me go.”

As you say this, Abby rests the joint between her lips, freeing both of her hands.

Abby’s hands clutch the car’s armrest. With a sudden, rough motion, she yanks you toward her, forcing you onto her lap. You gasp, startled by Abby’s intensity as your bodies collide in the confined space of Manny’s motionless car. She removes one hand from your waist to grab the joint and exhale the smoke.

“I told you many times to stop calling me by my full name,” she says, gripping your neck and pulling you closer to her face.

“And I told you many times I’m not any of your bitches, Abigail.”

“You’re mine, Y/N.”

“Fuck you.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she says, closing the distance between you until you’re just two inches apart.

“Too bad you made me mad,” she whispers.

You’re about to respond when her phone starts ringing. The caller ID shows ‘Manny.’

Abby rolls her eyes and throws away her joint as if it’s nothing.

“What do you want?”

“Abby, I need my car. Owen needs to grab something from home.”

“Fine.” She hangs up. Without missing a beat, she turns her head and locks her gaze with yours, her icy blue eyes filled with a silent warning.

“Don’t you even try to go back to her when we’re there again,” Abby says, her voice low but firm, every word laced with intensity.

You meet her stare, unimpressed. “You’re so annoying, Abby.”

With a sigh, you move to open the car door, slipping off Abby’s lap and sliding back into the passenger seat, feeling the shift in the air between you. Abby’s eyes never leave you, even as she shifts back into the driver’s seat, jaw tight, hands resting on the steering wheel, as if bracing for whatever comes next. As soon as you settle back into the passenger seat, Abby shifts the car into gear, her fingers tightening around the wheel. The tension in the air is thick, unspoken words hanging between you as you drive in silence. The dark, winding roads stretch out before you, the headlights cutting through the night, but neither of you says a word. Abby’s eyes flick over to you a few times, but she stays focused on the road. Her jaw is set, frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior. You lean against the window, your breath fogging up the glass slightly, arms crossed as the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires on the asphalt become the only sounds. Minutes pass, feeling like hours, until the familiar sight of the compound appears in the distance, its fortified walls and the glow of lights signaling you are back. The tension shifts, replaced by a looming sense of inevitability. The car rolls to a stop near the entrance where Manny and a few others are waiting, standing in the dim light as they speak amongst themselves. Abby kills the engine and sits there for a moment, staring straight ahead. “We’re here,” she mutters, her tone curt. You shoot her a sidelong glance but don’t say anything. You push open the door and step out, the cool night air hitting your skin as you stretch, shaking off the weight of the car ride. Manny notices you and gives a short wave, walking over with a grin on his face.

"Hey, took you guys long enough," he jokes, but he quickly notices the tension radiating from you and Abby.

Abby climbs out of the driver's seat, standing tall as she slams the door shut. Her eyes briefly meet yours, but she quickly turns to Manny. “We had some things to discuss about.” she says, her voice flat.

Manny raises a brow, sensing the atmosphere between you, but doesn’t press it. “Well, glad you're back. i’ll take owen at home home, we’ll be back in 10.”

After Manny finishes talking, you move to walk back to your friends when you feel pressure on your waist. It's Abby, her large, veiny hands gripping you firmly. She leans in, her voice low and steady.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, leave me alone," you reply, trying to pull away.

"Calm down, princess. I haven't even started with you yet," she whispers into your ear, smirking. Then, without warning, she presses a kiss against your neck, and it makes you freeze in place.

Abby lets you go, but she stays close, walking beside you with that familiar intensity. From a distance, one of your friends notices Abby’s presence and immediately makes her way over. Without hesitation, she grabs your arm, pulling you away from the tension. Abby lets you go, her hand sliding off your waist as she begins walking next to you, her presence still heavy in the air. From a distance, one of your friends notices Abby lingering close. Without hesitation, your friend walks over, a knowing smile on her face. She grabs your arm, pulling you away from Abby's intense aura.

"Come hereeee" she says, her voice light and carefree as she leads you toward the others. The music from the speakers pulses through the empty parking lot, and soon enough, you’re moving to the beat, your friend helping you shake off the tension as Abby watches from the sidelines, her gaze never leaving you. As the beat of the next song thumps through the speakers, your friend throws her head back, laughing. She leans into you, resting her head on your shoulder, her laughter light and carefree.

“Oh my god, I’ve never had this much fun in so long,” she says, still giggling, her words slurring from all the excitement. You feel her happiness infectiously sinking in.

Abby Standing off to the side, arms crossed, her jaw clenched tight, she watches you with a growing intensity. The sight of you laughing, vibing, and lost in the moment with your friend pushes her to the edge. Her patience snaps, and she starts walking toward you, the determination in her stride cutting through the music. You can feel the weight of her presence approaching, the air around you thickening.

She's had enough.

When Abby reaches you, her large hand grips your arm—not harshly, but firm enough that you feel the seriousness behind it.

“We’re done here,” Abby says, her voice low and commanding. There’s a tension in her words that sends a chill down your spine. She’s barely keeping it together. Abby isn’t going to wait for an answer, and before you can think too hard about it, she’s pulling you away from the music, away from the carefree vibe, and into the shadowy edges of the parking lot. You open your mouth to protest, the frustration bubbling up inside you, but before you can say a word, Abby steps in close, towering over you, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous mix of control and desire.

“Not even a word,” she interrupts, her voice low and unwavering. Her smirk pulls at the corner of her lips, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just wait till we get home,” she adds, her tone dripping with a promise that makes your pulse quicken. It’s the kind of tone that says it all:

I’m going to make you regret that.

You stand there, frozen, caught between defiance and the undeniable pull Abby has over you. your friends’s voice a distant hum as Abby’s presence overtakes everything. There’s no escape from the intensity in her eyes, and you know whatever is waiting for you at home is going to be something you won’t forget easily. After a moment of tense silence between you and Abby, Manny walks back over, catching sight of the two of you standing close, the tension still thick in the air. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything at first, sensing the shift.

“Oye chicas, you guys good?” he asks with a playful smile, his voice casual, but there’s a knowing edge to it. Manny has been around Abby long enough to pick up on her moods, and right now, he’s smart enough to stay out of it.

Abby barely glances his way, her hand still lingering on your arm. “Can you take us to my place?” she asks, her voice steady, but there’s no mistaking the undertone of command. It’s not really a request, and Manny knows it. He looks between the two of you, his gaze lingering on Abby for a beat longer. He doesn’t ask why or what’s going on—he doesn’t need to. Manny knows Abby better than almost anyone, and he can tell exactly what kind of mood she’s in.

“Sí, claro,” he says with a nod, keeping it simple. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask the questions swirling in his mind. After all, Abby is his best friend, and if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s when to mind his own business. You steal a glance at Abby, her smirk still lingering, and your stomach tightens with a mix of anticipation and nerves. Manny leads the way to the car, and you can feel Abby’s gaze burning into you the whole time. Whatever’s coming, you’re not going to be able to avoid it. You slide into the backseat with Abby beside you, the car ride feeling heavier than it should. Manny stays quiet up front, the silence only broken by the low rumble of the engine as he drives, and you’re left wondering what’s going to happen when you finally get to Abby’s place.

who knows what is going to happen next👀

#abby anderson #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x you #abby anderson tlou2 #abby smut #abby the last of us #the last of us part two #tlou smut #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams fluff #dealer!abby #abby x masc!reader

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