#fatal beam

[yoan-le-grall]

[maniccherrygirl]

[gyaryuyu]

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ starter for @mostrum˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

"WHOOOOAAA!! hold on hold on! WHO IS THAT?" was she being nosy? yes. will it cost her? maybe... if the other can survive this encounter. Yuyu was glancing over this particular cephalopod's shoulder TOTALLY CASUALLY when she spotted who could only be a beautiful siren on his screen. her lightening quick instincts kicked in as she practically dove over Azul's shoulder to point at the woman pictured.

"OMG!! She's a TOTAL HOTTIE! like that cool mature feel!~" Azul I am so sorry but she is talking about your mother.

[minnesotanaccent]

No way they are playing lake effect kid in this bdubs rn

[peachsayshi]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table. 

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away. 

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home. 

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to. 

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current. 

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.  

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately. 

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat. 

that student was his responsibility... 

...and he failed him entirely. 

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango.  “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!” 

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day. 

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down. 

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet. 

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her... 

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on. 

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair. 

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles. 

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!” 

she’s only six. 

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction. 

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty. 

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.  

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.  

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.” 

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him. 

the room is dead silent. 

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice. 

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.  

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place. 

he regrets his words immediately. 

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room. 

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next. 

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists. 

“kento?” 

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away. 

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry. 

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement. 

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?” 

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright. 

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug. 

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

[gyrabanias]

are you kidding me tumblr this is literally the ikuni mood tonight and it's unrebloggable. now I have to screenshot and complain here like a heathen

[memoriesofcrows]

there is something Wrong with me

[vampiretendencies]

request; omg can we get one where it’s like that one trend on tiktok where the girls wearing lipstick n it goes to her bf w kisses on his face😭😭😭 PLEASE I KEEP SEEING IT EVERYWHERE

warnings; fluff, maybe suggestive

pairing; jj x fem!reader

authors note; i’ve seen the tiktoks too my fyp is obx and couples rn :,) love this, thank u for sending this in. after the day i’ve had i enjoyed writing something small and pure. and i accidentally posted your ask when trying to save to drafts i ended up posting it so i hope u still see this <3

lipstick tiktok (example)

“The red lipstick is new, baby.”

JJ’s voice was raspy, having sat in that same criss crossed position for around an hour, on the carpeted floor beside you, whilst you brushed makeup products gently to your skin. Detailed review of the products you typically use, and that deep rouge lipstick was not one of them.

You were sat at your vanity, preparing for a party at the boneyard. It was the last get together for the summer, so you were tedious in being sure that this makeup look was one to remember.

He resembled that of a small child, the way he’s been beaming up in astonishment. Admiring every move you make to enhance the impeccable beauty you already had to start with. And reminiscing at the fact that you were his, truthfully his in every way.

“Mhm,” you breathe, deciphering wether or not you should take the risk of wearing the color or not. Typically sticking to nudes and neutrals, this was something out of your comfort zone.

“You gonna’ wear it?”

“Should I?”

He gives you a ‘you would look perfect wearing a fucking trash bag, did you really just ask me that’ look. His hand grasps your thigh, thumb reassuring you against your flesh, with small circular motions. Replacing his thumb with his chin, you feel the bone dig into the thick skin— this required a better view than the one he had.

“Course’ pretty girl,” he batted his eyelashes with promise. “Now put that shit on, m’waiting.”

At that, you hesitantly take the top off of the black capsule. Twisting it up for more of the substance, revealing an untouched dark bloody shade of deep red— the most powerful shade. Divine femme fatale, if you will.

JJ could’ve sworn he shattered into a thousand bits, bursting at the seams. The way your mouth parted open delicately to apply it, so intimate and sensual.

Being that it was pigmented you merely needed a few strokes. To JJ’s dismay though, he wanted to rewind that moment, bringing it in closely to store in his brain for the long run.

Open at an angle so sacred he could sob from the sheer euphoric look.

“So fuckin’ sexy,” he can’t help the words that spill past his lips. Nearly in a trace, and he swore he felt drool leave his mouth.

“Yeah?”

You snap the cap back on, standing from the stool, sliding it inward, and JJ follows suit. Someone that was melting moments ago is now towering over you.

“Definitely baby.”

Sort of repaying him in a way, you flash a toothy grin at him, lipstick effortlessly lining your plump lips— you lean forward cupping his jaw with your palms. JJ happily obliged, not caring about the stains the redness would leave on his features. He couldn’t have asked for anything more, actually.

Your lips pucker softly, pressing kisses to every inch of skin you could reach on his face. From the small freckles that littered his jawline to the top of his forehead that was fanned by the tufts of his blonde tresses. Everywhere.

His heated cheeks. Kiss.

The button-like tip of his nose. Kiss.

His chin. Kiss.

His longing lips. Kiss.

Your mouth shape reflected on his tanned face, intricate lining of your lips, every crevice. Fragile and slow with each and every kiss.

Catching your breath, both you and JJ peer into the vanity mirror. He pulls you into his side chuckling at the reflection. His pretty face, painted in the marks of your lips. Yours, lipstick smeared with swollen lips.

This was when JJ strongly believed in the saying of ‘ruin her lipstick, not her mascara.’

“Gotta wipe it off now, J.”

You reach for a makeup wipe, not wanting your boyfriend to embarrass himself at the event to come. But he forces you into his chest to peer up at him, causing your eyebrows to knit together.

“Leave it.”

He adored the lingering sensation of your lips to the subtle skin. Wanting every part of him to be a reminder of you.

So that anyone that walks pass him could clear as day see, he desperately belonged to his lover.

“Really J, let me wipe-“

“I said leave it, baby.”

[notmuchtofind]

unexpected pt1 | d.s

word count: 2k

fluff & angst

tw: mentions of car accidents, injury, fatalities and abortion

synopsis: you and drew can’t wait to start your little family in your brand new home. However, things take a turn for the worst…

"Good morning babe!”

The raspy voice seeps through the small speakers in your phone as you lift your finger from the slightly smudged screen. You rub the palm of your hand over your eye before turning over in your bed, bringing your phone with you and engulfing yourself in the duvet that appears 10x larger when you're alone.

"Morning" you whispered slightly in a somnolent voice "what time is your flight again?" you question, whilst glaring at the blue eyes of the boy you're so madly in love with through the phone screen.

"My flights at 2pm for me but..9am for you?" Drew says, slightly second guessing himself.

Drew has been away filming for a few weeks at a time whilst you've been staying home. The new house you and Drew have just bought was in need of some new interior and seen as though you both consider yourselves to be quite the creative pairing, you've decided to renovate and decorate by yourselfs. However, it seems to be proving more difficult than anticipated, and with Drew being away a little more than you also anticipated, it appears it's getting a little stressful.

You sigh, the thought of having to wait an extra 12 hours from now for your boyfriend to be home aches your heart. A conflicting feeling of sadness and excitement take turns filling the pit in your stomach, as being reunited is so close, yet so far away

You wonder if the stress of decorating the house and being alone for weeks at a time is also heightened by the hormonal imbalances your body is experiencing over these past 3 1/2 months.

Finding out you were pregnant was frightening to say the least. You hadn't planned it, you may have discussed it from time to time with Drew but you had it in your mind that that phase of your life was to come a little bit later down the line. So when you found out you were pregnant, the initial thought was to terminate the pregnancy...However, after a few weeks of discussions, and seeing how amazing Drew was being an uncle to his sister's son, you became very open to the idea of keeping it. And Drew agreed, even though he expressed that he would've been supportive with any decision you chose to make, he seemed the most happiest when he thought about hearing the little pitter patters of feet on the floor boards, or the sound of giggles so pure that are simultaneously shared with yours.

"Okayyyy" you nod whilst dragging out your syllables as you shuffle around in bed.

"How are you, baby?" Drew questions with a beaming grin and a slight spring in his voice. Drew quickly follows up his question with another "and baby?"

You glance at your beaming boyfriend through the screen and giggle to yourself. "were missing you" you wine, pouting your lips slightly, trying to make him feel sorry for you. "I miss you" he coos "but i'll be home soon, to look after you both! And also finish renovating this house before she arrives'' he gushed

Seen as the pregnancy was not planned, neither of you was prepared beforehand. You and Drew had owned separate apartments prior to buying this house. Even though you practically lived together whenever you could rustle up the chance, it always would go back to being only your space. or only his space. with only your belongings that subside or, vice versa. Even though You and Drew could've lived in your own little bubble forever, responsibilities and chores needed to be carried out to determine that your individual lives ran smoothly. Meaning time apart was necessary. But when you decided to keep the baby and start this little family, you both agreed it was necessary to look at buying a house.

You both agreed you wanted to know the gender of your baby, so you could customise the nursery and pick out the cutest, tiniest baby growths and hats, ready for your baby girl's arrival. Watching Drew hold up tiny shoes and fluffy teddies whilst shopping for your daughter melted your heart. You'd giggle whilst rolling your eyes and taunt him about already having basically the same product in the basket, but he'd wine and ensure the product was different, most of the time only in colour or size, and you was unable to argue with him as he was already determined that he was purchasing that item. He already couldn't say no to spoiling her, and she hadn't even arrived yet.

The house is large, a 5 bed 3 bathroom colonial stately home. Open plan kitchen and dining area, with multiple lounges and a couple studies. a pool and 2 acres of land. it’s been a joint dream for you and drew to own a home just like this one. so when you came across it on the market, you had a feeling this was going to be yours. your forever home. at least one of them! However, The catch? It needed renovation, and a lot of it. But you guys are determined to get the main rooms completely ready before the baby comes. However, you've got 6 months until she arrives and not even the nursery is finished. Did you guys bite off more than you can chew?

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

Drew was now just over an hour away from landing at the airport and you can feel you heart begin to fill with joy. Even though it takes you half an hour to drive to the airport, you decided to grab your bag and car keys and set off now. an attempt to miss the evening traffic.

Driving down the motorway, you hear your phone start to chime, "fuck" you mumble to yourself, Knowing your phone resides deep in your bag. The ringing is your ever so familiar alarm that you set to ensure you remember to take medication you've been on for your morning sickness. You let the chime ring out for a few seconds before it starts to test your patience.

"ugghhh" you moan... You reach your hand over to your bag whilst your other hand rests on the steering wheel, keeping your eyes on the road. you wiggling your fingers trying to locate the phone inside. You glance over to the bag, still reaching whilst trying to keep control of the car.

Your hand finally grasps your phone and you pull it out of your bag, setting it aside so you can switch off the echoing alarm. As you glance down, making sure you’re hovering your finger over the correct button, screeching tears through your ears.

Before you could react, your vision went black.

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

Smoke fills your lungs and your body is limp. you began to gasp for air as you can feel your heart pounding at a rate you've never seemed to experience before. you reach around trying to find something to grasp onto but your vision is blurry.

Blood floods the fabric of your clothes, taking up almost every inch. You realise the only way out of your vehicle is the already broken window that appears the opposite way round. Glass still resides on the edges of the window, but you don't contemplate your exit, you begin to crawl out of the opening. As you do so you notice your legs unresponsive, but the pain you feel is little to none, as the adrenaline rushing through your veins is enough to numb your body and thoughts. The only thought you have is to make your way out of this situation alive.

The sound of sirens replaced the sound of your heart beat. As you lay at the side of the road with one elbow propping your body up. you notice the impact your body has taken. your leg looked to be disoriented and your flesh was not attached to your bones. The pain started to seep through your body and you whimpered in pain whilst screaming for help. The truck that had hit you was on its side and your car was upside down. People began to gather and surround you as the sirens grew closer. After fighting the energy to stay awake you find yourself crippled with exhaustion, your eyes start to flutter shut...the sounds start to fade away.

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

Your eyes flutter, resisting the bright light that your met by and the smell of chemical aromas that are ever so strong. “baby…? that’s it. it’s drew” the muffled voice echoes through your ears, a voice that sounds uncertain, but a voice that grants you comfort.

"cmon baby, i'm here with you...you're gonna be okay y/n/n"

You begin to try to lift your head but a shooting pain descends down your back, you wince in pain as you drop your head back down to the white pillow.

"hey, hey! stop y/n/n, just rest okay. You're okay now. you're safe" Drew ensures whilst squeezing your hand in the palm of his.

You dart your eyes over to your puffy eyed boyfriend sat in the hospital chair. the anaesthesia and medication your body is under makes it hard to think straight, but you manage to give a slight reassuring smile to your boyfriend, just to tell him that you're hearing what he's saying and that you're relieved that he's the one by your bedside.

You notice Drew's eyes are glazed over and his pupils swell with joy. He gives you an identical smile. "Hey baby" he whispers whilst still squeezing your palm.

"I'm just going to get the doctors okay? Just to tell them you're awake" He explains. He stands carefully and begins to make his way out the hospital room.

The doctor enters the room as Drew grabs your hand and sits back by your side. you glance around, unsure of how to feel. your heart races as your consciousness starts to come back. You're slightly unsure of the intensity and trauma your body has just been through, but something feels incredibly off.

Your eyes dart to the doctor as he begins.

"Hello miss y/l/n, i'm doctor Edward's" he pauses "You've been in a severe car accident involving 1 other person" the doctor states...

"now there's a few things i'd like to go over if that's okay with you miss y/l/n and mr Starkey'' Drew nods eagerly as you widen your eyes, unable to move your neck.

"It looks as if you've broken your right leg miss y/l/n, as well as fracturing your collar bone, elbow and neck" he states. “you’ve experienced extremely deep tissue wounds to the calf’s and back muscles and a light head injury” he adds whilst ensuring he's making eye contact with yourself and drew.

"with the severity of the car crash, i'm extremely glad you're alive miss y/l/n, as your body has undergone quite the trauma" he states whilst looking down at his noteboard.

Your hearing what the doctors saying, yet none of it is settling in, you're heart is still racing and the pit in your stomach is growing larger and larger, all your mind resides on is your baby girl that's growing inside your stomach, the deep pain in your heart aches to know if your baby is okay.

You manage to muster the strength to ask the question that's been spinning round your head "is-is our baby okay?" you ask. You glance over at Drew, trying to gain an answer, However, he doesn't seem to meet your eyes, he's looking down at the floor, and you can see his breaths start to become unsteady. You quickly look over to the doctor and the look he gave you was a sympathetic one

"I’m terribly sorry miss y/l/n...umm...i'm afraid you suffered a miscarriage whilst being involved in the car crash"

You're taken back by his words and your hearing begins to muffle, you're unsure of how to react, you're unsure if the information has even hit you yet. You look over to drew and lock eyes as he's already staring at you with a look so heart wrenching. he Engulfed you in a hug. Drew kisses your forehead as he whispers

“Everything’s going to be okay”

a/n : i’m planning on doing 2 more parts to this story, one in drew’s POV and one about the impact of the miscarriage… i could possibly do a 4th part of how drew and the reader eventually try for another baby and start a family? lmk what you think <33

[s-4pphics]

moth. teaser. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: knights of the devil, you all are to be conquered. 

WORD COUNT: 881 

WARNINGS: vampire!ellie, vampirekiller!oc, a lot to come FUCK, violence… so blood(drinking), death, murder, gore, religion briefly,

A/N: yasss yaaas taglist?

prolouge

1809

“Oh, my precious darling…” 

Red, similar to her hair; palms painted from the tips of a finger to the points of elbows; knees sunk into begrimed pili drenched with fresh maroon. Panicked breaths are accompanied by prayers, wishes of denial. Desires for death. 

“… What I would give to protect you…” 

“F-F—“

Tortured hollers are directed towards the pouring skies. Bodies. Bodies everywhere; surrounded by decay. 

She sobs, deep from the pits of her stomach, “Father, for-forgive them! For they do not—“

Thunder claps. Lightning is being used as weapons from the Lord above, all meant to discover her and strike. The beams in the sky are intended to punish her discernment. It was a mistake. It was a mistake! Her eyes refuse to meet the battered corpse of the young babe, no more than three. Her crime was committed in a haze, blinded by starvation, all at the cost of the family before her. Villagers would deem the view a savage attack. A mutilation only made possible by the ravenous wolves after dark. The bears that protect the trees at dusk.

All on horseback, the strangers paused their ventures to inquire guidance. She swiftly became an aid for navigating the path, instructing them with a trembling finger and a blistering throat. Follow that trail to the end of the woods. Unbeknownst to their gracious eyes, she followed. Stalked after their mount for miles like the thoroughbred they ride, carried by the wind. Urged by bloodlust. 

Her vision blurred when they tied their horse’s lariats to a nearby post that barely passed the trees. Her vision was shrouded in darkness, a substance so thick that her limbs felt trapped, even in frantic movement. They’d reached the end, just like she’d promised. 

Their screams satiated her hunger, but never hindered her guilt. 

Demons, I tell you! All of them, demons! Witches destined to be set aflame for the masses! 

And now she crouches over them with remorse in her chest. Remorse that will wash away her like the rainfall that pounds on her shoulders. Much like it had in the past when her purity was stolen. Another fatality. 

1919

“Hunting requires bouts of unwavering dedication. If the entirety of your being doesn’t relish in the suffering of the demons walking, then you are to be shunned.”

Being the youngest hunter-to-be amongst legends, historical monuments that leave trails of prosperous victories wherever they advance, is humbling. Your mother pestered you for as long as you could remember: never, never become a hunter, being her only protest for you, her only child. She used to pray beside your bed at night when she assumed you to be asleep, praising the Creator for forbidding you sickness or poverty. You were her only treasure, a gift from the frosted heavens. 

And the demons took her. 

Hunters searched the unoccupied lands that surrounded your home relentlessly, but no traces of the Devils’ were ever discovered. They attended your mother’s burial for your protection, and prepared to assist your transition into the orphanage, but you denied. You were permanently vexed. Forever vengeful. 

I wish to become a hunter! 

Your recruitment was immediate due to the shortage of volunteers, and that same day, you witnessed all of the treasures and memories of your childhood home — of your mother — get burned to the ground by the Hunters. No trails for the demons should go untouched by fire. 

“If you hesitate for even a second, you’re dead. Either by their hand…” 

Something unsettled you that morning as you prepared for school. Something in the air, something underground. A heaviness in your home that you couldn’t trace. Your mother ironed your skirt and pinned your hair up, brushed down the small curls around your hairline, and she eased you. The weather is changing, dear, she’d said before wishing you well. You studied relentlessly, all while she was shredded by teeth sharp as knives. You want the Devil’s lifeless heart in the palm of your hand, risks be damned.

“Or mine. And I will not hesitate.” 

The overseer of your battalion, who slowly paces before his future prodigies, aura menacing, pauses in front of you. With your gaze locked forward and a lump in your throat, you gawk right on the crescent on his belt — the hunter’s insignia — your feet shuffle, shoes slightly squeaking above the wood. 

“Are you prepared, child?” 

His tone is disparaging, and you swallow. Your head bobs and your breathing stutters. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He crouches before you and your cells stiffen, elbows perched on his knees, eyes finally level with yours. You appear stoic due to the grinding of your teeth, inspecting the stitched scar that sprouts at his right brow and crosses his eye.

“You are nothing,” He hisses, and your heart clenches, “You are not a child, and I am not your elder. Any identity you held prior to your arrival is worthless, now. We are vessels for the greatest power above. Hunter is your only name, do you understand?” 

No verbiage escapes you. It couldn’t with how your breath trembles, so you nod once; Quite mechanic. 

“Stand straight.” 

His conviction forces your shoulders into alignment, and snickers from the older prodigies erupt from behind you. Your cheeks warm and your palms drip. The overseer rises to his feet once more.

“That goes for all of you!” He shouts, and the room is quiet.

The crescent sparkles under the yellow candlelight. Your palms grow clammy at his viperous swear. 

“I will not hesitate.” 

[maniccherrygirl]

I hate being sober in the evening, like what’s the point ?

[yourmaximoff]

Smooth Criminal

Summary: Is it possible for the dreaded serial killer Scarlet Witch to be just a woman you met at a disco?

Paring: Serialkiller!Wanda x Fem!Reader

Warnings: (+16) Kisses, warm touches, implicit sex, knife play (light), drink spiking, and implicit murder.

Words: 3k

A/N: Happy Halloween with Femme Fatale Wanda, literally. x.x

(English is not my first language, sorry for any translation errors)

𓆩♡𓆪

The rain, calm and cold, hammered incessantly against the windows of the distant nightclub on a Halloween night. Each drop left a translucent trail, distorting and diffusing the vibrant colors of the dance floor that shone inside the club.

The darkness inside the nightclub, as dense as pitch, was pierced and illuminated by a mirrored metallic sphere suspended in the center of the dance floor. As the mirrored ball spun slowly, the reflections and beams of light were dispersed throughout the club, painting the walls and people with a sea of vibrant colors.

Your mind was far away while your gaze was fixed on the half-full glass in front of you. Your tedious and weary fingers slid along the edge, creating a sharp and slightly uncomfortable sound. Your wandering gaze seemed to take a different course when a mysterious female figure in a coat and hat walked through the nightclub's door and was reflected in the glass. Your eyes soon shifted from the glass to the woman, who was now removing her partially wet coat and hat.

Blonde hair, short and delicately wavy, swayed gently as she took off her hat. Her eyelids, adorned with a soft touch of silvery glitter, and her lips painted with a soft, rosy gloss, looked like a charming work of art framing her oval face.

She gently slid her hands down the front of her unbuttoned overcoat, shook her shoulders, causing the coat to fall, revealing the stunning black sequin dress hidden beneath it. Leaving the coat and hat with the receptionist at the luxurious nightclub, she entered the flourishing sounds of the 80s and 2000s.

Her hips swayed to the rhythm of the 80s music in the background as she made her way toward the dance floor. The blonde exuded an air of confidence, a seductive look, as if she knew she could kill anyone with just a glance.

By a twist of fate, just as Madonna's 'Hung Up' began to play on the speakers, she looked directly at you. Her body was positioned right in the center of the dance floor, and her eyes were fixed on you, as if she knew you had been watching her since she arrived. Her intense gaze seemed to read your mind, to see through your soul. However, a simple wink and a smile transformed her intimidating look into an invitation.

The music started with its characteristic melody, and the blonde gracefully glided across the dance floor. Her arms and feet moved in rhythm with the others around her. However, even in the midst of so many people, she was the one who caught everyone's attention, seeming to command the minds of everyone around. It was as if she were the queen, and everyone around her were just subjects imitating her movements, much like Madonna herself.

Infected by the addictive beat of the music and her charms, you let yourself be carried away. You allowed yourself to be controlled by her gaze alone. Without knowing her name, her past, her sins, in just a few minutes, you were already by her side, imitating her moves, dancing with the same enthusiasm.

Her shoulders flowed in perfect harmony with the music's beat, while her arms sought to get as close to you as possible. Her radiant smile remained unshaken on her carefully painted lips, just like on yours. Her excitement was palpable, a surge of adrenaline pulsing through her veins, the same adrenaline she was so addicted to feeling.

The rhythm and dance of the people around dissolved as another song began to play. The choreography she had led gradually scattered, with people jumping and dancing randomly.

Stepping back, with the rhythm still pulsing through her veins, she leaned against you. You felt your already racing heart quicken further with the scent of strawberries in her hair, as her hips moved backward, purposefully brushing against your front.

As she whispered the lyrics of the song with her eyes closed, you felt that this was the silent permission you needed. Slowly and delicately placing your hands on her waist, you heard a moan escape her lips, along with a slight movement, pressing even closer to you.

A wave of heat coursed through your body, the countless dance steps leaving you tired, yet her energy seemed to overflow into you. It was so strange to see someone so joyful and energetic. You could feel the adrenaline running through her body, as if she were in ecstasy.

Placing her hands on yours, she slid on the tips of her heels and positioned herself face to face with you, not allowing you to remove your hands from her waist. For a few moments, she seemed to get lost in thought, staring directly into your eyes with those sparkling emeralds. The background music sounded muffled, and her hands, now on your shoulders, began to apply gentle pressure with her sharp, long nails.

When she was sure of what she wanted, she smiled at you, and her intense gaze softened. You didn't quite understand. It was as if, for a moment, she wasn't the same enthusiastic woman who had been dancing. Did she seem like someone else? But all the questions were pushed aside when she began to draw closer.

Her hands slid behind your neck, while your hands firmly held her waist, bringing her closer. When your lips touched, and you tasted her lip gloss, the same adrenaline from the dance coursed through your veins.

Your chest pounded strongly as you savored the sweet, slightly tangy taste of her breath. Her tongue, entering your mouth and being met by your own shy tongue, seemed hungry for you, exploring every bit with overwhelming desire. However, when a new song began to play, her hand slid from your neck to your hands before she backed away and disappeared into the crowd.

The entire nightclub was immersed in deep darkness, with the only source of light being the silver disco ball that illuminated the bodies in the middle of the dance floor. Looking around and passing through the people, you truly lost her. She seemed to vanish as if by magic.

Giving up on searching for her and accepting that this was a one-night affair, or rather, a single dance, you made your way to the small bar. A bit disappointed that she had disappeared but happy that you had at least kissed someone as beautiful as her.

With a familiar gesture, the bartender slid another drink across the bar to you. A bit of alcohol in your bloodstream would help calm your thoughts, especially your racing heart. Turning half the glass in one go and tapping it gently against the bar, you focused your attention on the small television attached to the ceiling.

"The criminal Scarlet Witch has escaped from the police, leaving numerous dead and injured in her wake last night," said a woman holding a microphone, as images of a sort of crimson red crown spray-painted on gray brick walls appeared on the screen. "She is on the run, and the reward for any leads is $30,000. Any information should be reported to 911 or the nearest police station."

A shiver ran down your spine. The mere possibility of a serial killer in the vicinity truly made you wary of venturing out alone on the streets.

The scent of strawberries emanating from the newly acquainted blonde's hair filled your senses once again. You glanced away from the news to the blonde woman, who was waiting for her drink just a few stools away.

You could feel those green, almost golden eyes slide to the corner of her own eyes, discreetly looking in your direction. You were so mesmerized that you barely noticed when the bartender placed two glasses in front of her.

A sly little smile formed on her face as she turned her attention back to the two glasses in front of her. The blonde downed one of them in one go, letting out a satisfied moan, while she simply picked up the other with her hand and left the bar, almost disappearing again into the crowd.

But this time, you wouldn't let her escape. Those eyes seemed to invite you to something, and you were curious enough to want to find out what. You followed the shimmer of that black sequin dress, which reflected silver against the metallic ball in the center of the dance floor.

Her hips swayed seductively, as if she knew you were following her. It seemed like she was fully aware that you were enchanted by her, as if there was a cunning plan in her mind that you couldn't even imagine. You had no knowledge of her true intentions, the side that revealed itself when the music pulsed through her veins or when she identified someone as delicious as you.

You lost sight of her for a moment, but when you found her, the situation was so painful that you decided to stop following her. A tall brunette girl took the drink she held in her hands and then kissed her passionately, as if in a movie.

You thought she really wanted another dance with you, but apparently, she was interested in someone else. With a sigh, you turned around and returned to the bar, drowning your senses in any sweet cocktail. You weren't much of a drinker, and even less prone to getting emotionally attached so easily to someone, but you felt that she was truly special, or something cliché like that.

Those intense green eyes fixed on you, sitting alone at the bar. Wanda needed to find out if you were different, she needed to test. Remembering Peggy's lips, the girl who had just fallen under her spell, she realized that she wasn't wrong about you. You truly had something different, something Wanda certainly didn't feel with anyone, let alone with Peggy.

Peggy was already beginning to feel dizzy, not only from the effects of the spiked drink but also from the heat that was taking over her body due to Wanda's touches. She longed to relieve this tension that seemed only possible with Wanda. As if reading Peggy's thoughts, Wanda held the girl's hand, and the two of them made their way through the crowd in the nightclub towards the restroom.

All the people around were drunk enough to not remember "who the mysterious blonde was who had last had contact with Peggy when she was still alive."

𓆩♡𓆪

"Can I buy you a drink?" Like an angel, a soft, deep voice slid from your right ear to your left. A glass filled with alcohol was gently pushed in your direction.

"Only if I know your name," you say, turning your gaze to her. Even though you had never heard her voice, you felt that it was her.

"If that's your price," she says, picking up the glass in front of you with her hand. "My name is Wanda," she says before downing half the liquid in the glass. Then she places it on the table and slides it toward you. "And yours?"

You look at the glass as the name "Wanda" smoothly slides through your mind. She was so mysterious, so intriguing, and that glass seemed strangely delicious after she had placed her lips on it. Her eyes sparkled, and she couldn't contain her wide smile as you turned the glass completely. It was confirmation that you would let yourself be led by her.

"S/N," you sigh, feeling the thick, icy drink slide down your throat like fire.

In seconds, Wanda was already standing by your side. Her black, glossy nails slid over your neck, leaving red traces before tangling in your hair. You slowly turned your head in her direction and were greeted by her sweet, full lips.

Wanda slowly turned the bar stool toward her. Her knee positioned itself between your legs like a support on the bench. This time, the kiss was gentler and slower, her lips perfectly fitting into yours, while her nails scraped and played with the hair at the nape of your neck.

When your hands clasped her waist and your tongue entered her mouth, she allowed herself to slide her knee forward, coming dangerously close to the warm, moist valley between her legs.

You moaned in response to the kiss and tightened your grip on her waist as you felt her gently touch the sensitive area between your legs. That bare and delicate knee, lightly brushing against your already drenched panties, sent an electrifying wave of heat. You desperately desired her, and she was well aware of it.

With small, sweet pecks on your lips, she squeezed your thigh with one hand, while the other made sure to interlace your fingers. Wanda removed her knee from the chair and made a gesture to pull you, to take you somewhere. Completely intoxicated with desire and craving more of her, you allowed yourself to be led.

As soon as you crossed the bathroom door, a firm hand pushed you against the door itself. Your breath caught in your throat, your tongue touching the roof of your mouth, and the taste of gloss invading your lips. Kisses slid from the mouth to your neck, while perfectly painted glossy black nails began to scratch the sensitive skin of your thigh.

Numb from the kiss and the drink that was starting to churn your stomach, you held firmly behind her head, intertwining your hand in her hair as she explored your neck. She made sure to leave a mark on every inch of exposed skin on your neck that the clothing didn't cover.

Wanda slid one of her hands over your stomach, feeling and searching for the location of your womb through the fabric of your dress. As she continued to kiss your neck, making your body tremble and become a hot mess, she removed her best friend, a sharp red and black switchblade, hidden on her thigh beneath her sheer stockings.

Michael Jackson's 'Smooth Criminal' echoed muffledly behind you as you were still pressed against the door. A deep sigh escaped your throat when you felt a sharp pain crawl over your stomach's skin. The wet sensation of Wanda's lips on your neck and her delicate bites tried to distract and confuse your mind. However, the stomach pain was so intense, and the sensation of something wet dripping was so present, that you tried to look down. But Wanda, with her delicate hand, quickly held your chin and raised it again, making you face her.

Wanda pressed her lips against yours once again, trying to distract you from the pain that was starting to become almost unbearable, and it seemed to really work. While you thought it was just a common stomachache, or that Wanda was scratching you again with her nails, you placed both hands on her neck. It was as if you were drunk and needed more of her lips. You felt such a strange connection with her that, if she were to disappear again, you would remember the taste of her well in your memory.

Wanda smiled against the passionate kiss. Her hand left your chin and started holding your still waist, while the other hand worked to leave her mark, or rather, the crown that had appeared on the news minutes before, with a switchblade on the delicate skin above your womb.

𓆩♡𓆪

The small ceiling shower, turned on and gushing water, provided comforting warmth to your body, which was dealing with a painful hangover. You woke up alone in this roadside motel room, with a glass of water and a pill on the table next to the bed.

You weren't accustomed to going out at night with strangers, let alone going to motels, but you really didn't want to keep things between you and Wanda confined to that small bathroom in the nightclub. Sighing, you remembered Wanda. Now, you felt like you would never see her again in your life. At least you had an unforgettable night with her, and that was enough... or so you liked to think to comfort yourself.

Sliding your hand over your abdomen, you felt a burning pain as a small stream of water dripped from the tips of your fingers directly onto a sensitive spot on your stomach. You felt a shiver run down your spine. Without turning off the shower and without caring about the water droplets running from your naked body, you quickly headed for the mirror in the room.

Standing right in front of the mirror, you fixed your gaze exactly on your womb, where there was a sort of crown embedded in your skin. It seemed to be something deeper than a simple tattoo and definitely burned as if it had been cut.

You opened and closed your mouth several times, trying to organize your thoughts. Everything seemed confusing, especially because you recognized the mark on your skin that had been shown in the news at the nightclub. Feeling a strange wave of fear and distress, you sat on the bed behind you, not caring about completely wetting the covers. It was like a punch, a punch so strong that you felt relieved to be alive.

Of all the victims, you were the only one to come out alive. You were the only one who didn't trigger a psychotic impulse in her when the music flowed through her veins. You were different, special, and unintentionally became her favorite prey.

Wanda, or rather, Scarlet Witch, left her mark on you, a mark for you never to forget her. Her little declaration of love, stamped in the form of a crown over your womb, was a small sign that she would come back to you.

[riphobisbraces]

The Lucky Seven | BTS ot7 x reader

Hybrid/Royal AU

~ Chapter 1 ~

[ word count 3400+ ]

❀ genre: dark royal core, hybrid au, royalty au, hybrids/knights!ot7 x human/ princess!reader, afab (she/her) reader, polyamory (mostly ot7 x reader), strangers to lovers, daddy dom, smut and sexual sometimes. tiny bits of horror

❀ warnings: smut, swearing, murder, death (not the reader or ot7 though, I'm not evil), mentions of inbreeding (not between reader or ot7) some unsettling horror depictions, it won't be every chapter though or the whole story, just little bits here and there. (I'm willing to re write chapters for you to read if you can't do horror but still wanna follow along, just ask!🖤)

——— summary ———

In a world of hybrids and humans, following each other closely to extinction, you are one of the last full humans, Princess y/l/n of the emerald nation. humans are essential for the survival of hybrids so why are assailants hunting you and your family down? because of this, the court has decided it’d be best for you to be guarded at all times by the nations strongest knights, you’ve only ever heard of them but have never seen their faces. What will happen once you come face to face with the infamous “lucky seven”?

[ chapter 1 ]

“you will not go.”

Your father states lowly but firmly. The voice sharp enough to slice the chatter amongst the servants into silence. you were having lunch with your mother and father when you made the fatal mistake of bringing up the possibility of you attending tonight’s annual masquerade ball and thereby making your debut to the kingdom.

Ever since you were a little girl you had been sheltered your entire life. You’re told it’s for your own protection, for your people. you have to stay safe and alive to be able to nourish your nation.

being one of the last full blooded humans, you are a target. No one knows what you look like and you don’t know what anyone else looks like as well. Aside from your staff and servants, no one has ever seen your face. The kingdom and nation knows of your existence of course and they love you nonetheless but because of the scarcity of humans, your father has hidden you away in fear of you being kidnapped or worse.

Your father sees you as a priceless pearl, something he has the strong urge to protect. You were his treasure and he himself had a dark past he never got into as to why he was so overprotective. “but father… I’m 22 years old..” you say but as soon as it leaves your mouth, you wish you could take it back.

“Daughter, I know your age. And to question me is to disobey me, please leave your mother and I at once and make your way into your chamber” your father ends the conversation with that, wiping his mouth with his hanker-chief. He’s always been strict and what he says is always final. As you sat across from your mother, you stood up, placing your hands on the cold grey marble table.

You give her a look, furrowing your eyebrows as to say “please say something” but to your dismay she does the same as your father, wiping her mouth then clearing her throat before looking down to finish her meal. You sigh before you give in with a feeble “yes father”. standing up, you make your way out of dining room, feeling sympathetic glances from the staff as you leave the room.

Walking to your chamber you notice the marbled white floor feels a bit chilly today. you walk through the corridor, onto the white stairway, feeling the relief of warm velvet carpet beneath your chilly feet. Walking up the stairs, one by one, you reach the halfway mark.

The sun from the large glass windows on top of the staircase beams through, tickling your eyes. you squint and use your hand to shade your eyes before looking up. You see two birds fly by, disappearing as quickly as they appeared, almost looking like as if they flew into the clouds.

You feel your heart fall heavy, filled with desperation to be like one of those birds, even just for a second. how lucky they were, to be able to go anywhere, anytime they want. no responsibilities.

It’s a little cliche but people are right when they say they wish they were birds you think to yourself. You’ve read hundreds of books and definitely have come across some descriptions of people wanting to be birds. Never understanding though as a child, you would think to yourself “why on earth would one want feathers? And to have a beak? How bizarre” But as an adult, you understood why now. It was about the freedom.

“Your highness, are you alright? Is your heart okay?” No it isn’t. You snap out of your thoughts before you realize you were still standing halfway up the staircase, clutching your chest all the while an old male servant by the name of Lloyd, looked at you with a face of concern. How long did you space out for, you thought.

“Oh yes, thank you. I guess I just got lost in thought” you give a half smile to your servant. His face of concern turned to relief before quickly turning sour again. while waiting for his response you realize he was one of the servants that was in the dining room when that whole theatrical happened with your father.

“Your highness, please forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn but I do feel sorry for you and your predicament. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do to lessen your grievances.” He tries to smile before dismissing himself with a bow and turning away. this of course isn’t unusual, your servants do seem to pity you a lot, which you find ridiculous and kind of ironic, that your “sheltering” has gotten to the point where servants pity a princess!

you’re grumbling as you think and make your way through the upstairs corridor, before eventually finally reaching your room. the oh so familiar two large and tall, white doors stand in front of you. you’ve seen these doors more often than you’ve seen your own face you thought to yourself.

reaching for the diamond knobs you turn them before pushing your way in. The breeze of the outside immediately hits your nose. It’s so fresh and delightful.

Your maids know how stuffy it gets in your chamber and how much you love fresh air so they leave your window open whenever you’re away from your chamber. Your room is cream coloured and filled to the brim with gold accents. High ceilings and lots of books.

Walking towards your desk by the window, you feel your mood start to shift. you feel a bit better despite the little argument you had with father this afternoon. you take a seat in your chair, it’s plush seating immediately coaxing your back into comfort and relaxation.

Inhale… exhale… you look up to your painting above the desk. it’s of two women, dancing in glee at some sort of outdoors festival. you always loved this painting, the happiness they seem to exude, the freedom and love.

They look like they don’t care about the past nor future, they are just focused on the present and what’s in front of each other. Oh how you longed to be that free and content. you feel the familiar heaviness sinking into you chest once again.

you have to feel that freedom, you have to have that happiness at least for one night, dear god, please, just for one night. The desperation in your chest starts to grow more and more. The desperation turns into fear and anxiety.

You feel your palms sweat and your face get hot just at the very thought. Your hands start to shake once you come to the very obvious conclusion. you HAVE to sneak out to the ball tonight.

—

“But Lloyd, you said you would do anything” you whine with a pout to your servant. “Your highness I-I might’ve of offered but I didn’t think you would need this! And your father- ohhh no, your father is a very scary man and I don’t think if I-“ you shush Lloyd, the same old male servant from before from the stairway. “shhhh. Keep it down! you aren’t doing anything you aren’t supposed to be doing, just play along. Just- Please.. “ You reply with hopelessness at this point, looking down.

you had hatched the perfect plan. You made it as though you were sleeping in your bed, forming your pillows to the shape of your body underneath the comforter. You were all dressed and had your mask on but even so, you would just have to avoid your personal staff and your parents, no one knew you were the princess and what you looked like.

Your father had luckily assigned Lloyd to sit outside your chamber with the guards. The routine is usually a servant will come in and out, checking on you from time to time making sure you are okay before letting the guards know. they would sit there all night which you had gotten used to over the course of your life.

You were always being watched and protected. a sigh interrupts your thoughts “if you’re caught, I knew nothing.” he says in defeat. your eyes widen with a bright glow and you feel your heart skip a beat before jumping into his arms “thank you, thank you, thank you” you whisper. he knows he shouldn’t be doing this but he can’t help but feel for you and your situation.

But the way you lit up and how fast he heard your heart go at his answer, he didn’t regret agreeing. Suddenly he pulled away from the embrace to face you, “Okay princess but you have to promise me not to leave the castle! please stay within the ball and please don’t get recognized. If you’re in danger please just run back to your chamber and reveal yourself to the servants so we can help you. And-“ the old man was about to continue before you cut him off “I promise I’ll be safe. just leave it all to me” you smiled at him.

He sighed out before he looked down at you and tried to return the smile but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. “Okay your highness” He replied. You give him one last smile before you let go and he dismisses himself.

Hearing your chamber door closed, you slowly walked up to your mirror, taking one last look. you were adorned with a long black dress, thin short sleeves resting on your shoulders, décolletage exposed wearing a pearl necklace with a dark green emerald laid in between your collarbones. your bangs were slightly pinned back just enough to show off your black lace mask.

Wearing your silk black gloves, you pulled up your mask to your face. this was the night. Tonight would be the night of your life. you feel yourself start to shake, before you suddenly feel the urge to throw up from all the adrenaline already.

you swallow it back holding your stomach. You thought this would be easy, thinking of it so many times before but now that you’re actually doing it, you are very frightened. You’ve never been by yourself, you’ve never been in public and mostly, you’ve never disobeyed your father.

You start to rethink your decisions. It’s not too late to undress and head to bed your good conscience says. father would never know. no. something snaps in you saying “it’s now or never”.

you shake your hands breathing in and out walking back and forth from your window before looking out to check for the outside night guards. You planned on jumping out your window and making your way to the ball since you’re only up on the second floor. There was also a small tool-shed in front of your window so you decided that you could easily make that jump to on top of it.

Once you’ve noticed that the guards finished their round near your window and were out of sight, you decide you have to just do it, or else you never will. without thinking, you opened your window ever so slightly before making the jump to the top of that very shed you’ve thought about jumping onto for years.

—

breathing in and out while looking up at the stars, you just lay there, on top of the tool shed. “I did it” you thought. You start to quietly giggle to yourself.

Even if you didn’t make it to the ball, this was enough. this was the furthest you’ve ever been outside the castle by yourself and it was simply outside your window. you catch eye of the Big Dipper, noting how prettier it looks outside.

You’ve seen the Big Dipper many times before from your window but to be apart of it outside, feels different. there are no walls surrounding you, just miles and miles of horizon. you feel like you’re in space.

“wow..” you say. You’re enjoying being in this new space before you’re brought back to reality with the sound of a snap of a twig. you quickly sat up and gasped.

you looked around into the darkness, squinting in hopes that would somehow improve your night vision. you quickly climb off once you decide that the coast is clear, making your way into the night. you can’t shake the feeling that someone or something is watching you though so you pick up your pace to the entrance.

Turns out your feeling was right. someone was watching you, not a threat though. the hybrid watched in the dark with curiosity as you made your way to the front of the palace. “Hmm” a low voice grumbles from the dark as you’re already long gone.

—

“woah…” you say in amazement at the crowd. You made your way to the front entrance where every hybrid of all ages were laughing and chattering. everyone looks beautiful and exquisite, definitely fit for a Royal ball.

You can’t help but smile like you never smiled before in your life. in awe of the different faces and smells, you find yourself all of a sudden getting pushed inside as everyone makes their way in. the crowd forming a moving wave toward the entrance with you in it so you decide to just go with the flow hoping you won’t trip.

As the crowd moves towards inside, it doesn’t take long before everyone starts to disperse into a large and grand ballroom. You gasp in astonishment, why haven’t you ever seen the ballroom when it was decorated like this?

Yes you’ve passed by it many times but the room was always empty and plain. It always felt spacious and dark, a lonely room. but tonight was different, the room had come alive with warmth and gold.

It was as if what was missing were people, smiles and laughter. It felt like an another dimension, the layout was your home but you were somewhere completely different. You made your way to the side of the room, leaning against the wall and just taking in the scene before you.

The sound of trumpets startle you from your bewilderment, panicking and immediately ducking down because you know that could only mean your father is going to make his entrance. “Woahh there miss, it’s just the horns for the king” a deep voice makes you turn your head.

A tall man standing in front of you makes your stomach drop. Looking him up and down real quick you realize, he’s a knight. you’ve never been this close to anyone but your servants, let alone having to speak to them. “o-oh yeah. I know” you quickly say before trying to hide again.

You look at the grand staircase in the middle of the room where it looks like your father will be entering from. Feeling your heart beat faster you turn back to get another look at the man’s face beside you before realizing he hadn’t broken his eye contact on you since he’s spoked. he was wearing a black eye mask but you could tell that he was handsome.

His heart shaped lips and angular jawline. He had dark hair and dark eyes to match, you could feel your palms getting hot and a weird fluttering feeling go off in your stomach just by looking at him. “is there a reason why you don’t smell of hybrid miss?” he broke your thought whilst smirking.

Wait what, smell? “what do you mean?” you question. He continues “well it’s just that, every hybrid has a certain scent that others can decipher as hybrid but it seems that…” he leans closer to smell you as you shiver from the sudden close contact “you don’t have a scent. Not a hybrid scent anyway, and as a hybrid, I shouldn’t even be having to explain this to you as you should know this… right?” He smiles. Shit, you are screwed.

You didn’t know that. otherwise you would’ve stayed in your chamber. Humans and hybrids have differentiating scents? your father never really told you these things as he thought you wouldn’t need to know them.

God damn it, father, you thought to yourself. “I just-“ you were about to continue when you were saved by the bell, or at least you thought you were. It was your father speaking. “Welcome to the 34th annual masquerade ball! please help yourself to refreshments and dance to your heart's content! please enjoy!” He finishes with a bow.

Everyone begins clapping as you find yourself sneaking away to get back to your chamber. Making your way out, you suddenly feel your wrist being grabbed, you gasped before your turned to face the same man you were talking to before. “I know you’re the princess, and I know you shouldn’t be here” he admits with a soft voice.

You feel your knees turn into noodles as you’re caught. “Please oh please don’t tell my Father, I was just about to go back into my chamber-“ you’re cut off when something quickly partially covers your sight. the room went quiet from the sudden fast flying object. you look above the thing partially covering your sight before you realize what it was.

An arrow. in between yours and the man’s face. You gasp, breath hitching, trembling as you look at the man in front of you who also has wide eyes. he suddenly covers you and picks you up bridal style without a thought and yells “THE PRINCESS IS BEING ATTACKED” everyone starts to scream and duck once everyone registers what’s going on.

“the princess?” “What is she doing here” screams and confused chatter quickly spread amongst the ball all the while, your father is standing on top of the stairs frozen in bewilderment.

What were you doing here? Who was attacking? Who’s going after his little girl? Why can’t he move? He can’t do anything but watch everything unfold in shock, still like a statue.

The voices of servants and knights trying to get orders from him, just registering as ringing in his ears. His mouth slightly agape, amongst the chaos, one of his best knights pulls him by the shoulders. “MY LORD” suddenly a loud voice abruptly brought him back from his frozen shock.

He looks up before realizing it’s one of the lucky seven. Ironically, he feels lucky because of this. “get my daughter out of here” is all the king could muster before the knight gave him a stern nod.

Running down the stairs, the knight yells out to his pack member carrying the princess “HOBI, GET HER TO NAMJOON” hobi nods while running to the front to where the said knight named Namjoon resided. The aforementioned knight running down the stairs then took out his sword and quickly looked for his other pack members to take down the asalients.

—

you’re frozen. You can’t do anything but watch the horror unfold. This is all your fault, it had to be. People were pushing each other, screaming and crying.

Everyone was running for their lives all the while you were being carried by this unknown knight. You could feel the regret and fear in your stomach churning together to create this whole new awful feeling. You just wanted to go home, you regretted ever coming out.

Your train of thought is broken when the two of you finally made it outside. An even taller and buff looking man ran up to you guys. “Hobi, what’s going on?” he asks concerned while looking back at you both and everyone running past you guys. Who you guess is Hobi, puts you down and replies “this is the princess, she’s being attacked. We need to hide her until the others calm everything down, king’s orders”

Namjoon looks at you in shock “the princess?” before quickly shaking his head, snapping himself out of his own shock before saying “alright, I’ll take her from here”. The buff looking man quickly shape-shifts into his animal form, a large dark grey wolf.

Hobi quickly puts you on top of his back before saying “hang on tight your highness” you do as your told and hold onto the wolf around its shoulders, not being able to wrap your arms fully around because of how truly large he was. Letting your hands sink into his fur, you grab on before he suddenly starts running.

You turn around as the palace behind you becomes smaller and smaller and the screams become quieter and quieter. You turn back to face forward before letting yourself succumb to your adrenaline, now feeling safe. This fur is warm you think to yourself before drifting to sleep, all the while you somehow held onto the hybrid tight the whole ride, too scared to let go or be alone even whilst asleep.

a/n; okay so I know I said I would start writing chapter one tomorrow but I couldn’t wait, I wanted to get the story rolling before I started writing tomorrow again. anyway what did you think? why didn’t Lloyd tell y/n about humans and hybrids having different scents? who was watching her while she was on top of the tool shed? and how did hobi know y/n was the princess 🤔 also who was the knight that broke the king out of his thoughts? So many questions unanswered but continue reading to see what happens! we will be meeting the boys properly next chapter :)

Next chapter:

[soapels]

but my hair smells of war

simon “ghost” riley x female reader

tw: nsfw, mutual pining, size kink (i guess?), reader is a jittery virgin, soft! ghost, lovey! ghost, but there’s an overall dark, forlorn theme, (angst??) slight paranoia, 18+ characters

notes: my first cod fic ever :,) bear with me here while i learn to navigate the characterizations! anyways the title is really inspired by that quote by warsan shire! do tell if you enjoyed & let me know who you’d like to see next (^_^)’’ (soap + konig brainrot is REAL lately…)

all hearts and reblogs are very appreciated!

Just outside the safehouse, crickets chirp.

It’s a pleasant backdrop to the otherwise quiet area of the stables, hay so itchy it even manages to prickle at your skin through the thick fatigues, slivers of the moon filtering in through the windows.

It’s been a long day, you’d seen awful things again (and you know this is just your call of duty but bloodshed- no matter how repetitive- never gets old, never gets easy), and up until around fifteen minutes ago, you were still on the run outside, tired; veins pumped to the hilt with adrenaline, (sometimes you wonder if these levels are healthy) and admittedly quite fearful (that never gets old either).

The path you’ve chosen is frightening at the best of times.

But now you can rest. Even if just for a moment, even if sleep comes seldom or you have to beckon it until closer to sunrise- even if tomorrow, when you return to the battle and the chaos and the ever-changing future, you won’t make it out alive.

There’s some quiet chatter in the safehouse, unconsciousness to you is like nirvana and nirvana is rare, near unobtainable, but you can vaguely make out the low rumble of Ghost’s voice, and more clearly- the lighthearted quips of Soap- and it oddly puts you at ease. Nudges you along to that inviting darkness, bones so pleasantly weak and ready for that nothingness, even if the hay is uncomfortable and you’re sure at least a spiderweb or two is lurking somewhere above in the rafters (because it’s just too dim to see, and the wooden beams block most of the moonlight from here).

You’ve never trusted Graves. (What’re you thinking? Go to sleep.) …Not entirely, at least, and the Shadows are up to no good lately- you don’t know this for sure, to be honest you’ve said no peep of your niggling qualms- but you feel it from deep within that something’s… wrong.

Or maybe it’s paranoia, maybe, most-certainly, it’s just that warrior disease settling in. It’s dark out, and you’re exhausted, and your heart always feels so laden when you’re all alone and the gunfire ceases. That’s why these awful thoughts creep in on you, you convince yourself, lashes fluttering as you approach a hopefully pleasant dream. That’s why your mind sabotages you like this.

Your comrades aren’t enemies- don’t shut them out. No one fights alone. (And now, the last thought you have before drifting off completely, is oddly of Ghost, and how his voice would rasp as he said those familiar words, and the way the foreboding skull of his mask shifts when he speaks. And that damned glow of his eyes, haunting… strangely-beautiful, whenever they flicker over to you. So cold yet distant too, like an iceberg peeking above a frozen tide, silent but fatal if you’re not careful enough to steer clear of it. They don’t call him Ghost for no reason, though you think Simon Riley is a rather befitting name too- because if he had to have one, if he had to be real, then that’d be it.)

And you’re almost there, a warm fuzziness within- so vague and shapeless as you fade from reality- almost to that quiet bliss. One of the things you learned over the taxing span of your military years- sleep is by no means a small luxury.

There’s a shuffling beside you. Faint, ever so slight. Shouldn’t be enough to wake you. But it is. It’s enough to have your eyelids flying open, all exhaustion crumbling away as you—

“Shh, sergeant,” a gruff voice hushes, and recognition clicks. “It’s me,” he’s stood at the edge of the bale, which is frankly closer than you anticipated, propping his gun against a beam before sitting himself down. You swear you feel his body heat as the backside of his thick fatigues brush against your thigh, instinctively drawing your legs closer to give him more room.

Partially confused, very caught off guard, and admittedly a bit flustered, you blink away from him, his silhouette brimmed with the pale, conniving moon as you muster up a coherent response.

“Ghost,” is all you manage to breathe. But he seems to be fine with that, those dark, untelling eyes regarding you cooly as your knuckles sheepishly brush away exhaustion from your lashes.

“Sorry, did-… are we off already?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head softly, and even his gravelly voice has dipped into something gentler, not as harsh around the edges. To see Ghost like this- so unguarded (not entirely, never, but it’s still surprising)- comrade or not, is… different, to say the least. Not in a bad way, quite the opposite. Still.

“Get some rest …Didn’t mean to wake ya.” His whisper is calming; you trust him fully, wholly, you think if he asked for your life right now you’d give it to him. Easily. Without falter. Because despite it all, his rough exterior, his sometimes-lethal temper and his unforthcoming behavior towards others, you know he’d do the same.

(He’s killed for you. Save you too many times to count.)

The crickets and cicadas thrum, but despite it all- the soothing wildlife outside and the soft rustling of hay as across the stable, Soap situates himself for the night- you’re focused on the man sat beside you, not even a foot away as he regards you almost absently. (But you’ve learned that nothing about Ghost is absent.)

And you want to listen to him, belatedly settling your head down on the bale, you really do, but there’s just something off in the air as those deep-chestnut eyes sweep over you; relaxed, too relaxed, almost as if nobody was behind them (but you know that to be false, too), a peculiar, unfamiliar drawl to them as he appraises you.

You’re dusted pale, feathered with the moon like the stars stepped down to personally kiss you, and Ghost watches you for a second more, your fluttering lashes- making no move to close- your lips, the slope of your cheek and the curls of hair framing your face- and his black skull balaclava shifts.

“Sleep, sergeant.”

“I don’t think I can,” you murmur, so quiet and faint, yet your voice manages to resonate with him regardless. It earns a halfhearted snort from him.

“Haven’t even tried, have ya?”

Maybe there’s a sliver of jest there.

You take the opportunity to make a harmless tease at him, a sweet little smile carving into your cheeks, “Well, I almost succeeded until you came along.”

His silence isn’t rewarding, but you both know you’re right, and a heavy question weasels its way into your mind. And you know he can sense it, that unspoken thickness as your lids battle exhaustion, and you also understand that Ghost doesn’t appreciate dishonesty- or a lack of divulgence where it’s due.

So you ask him.

“There was… something you wanted? If you want me to do something-“ maybe you should be embarrassed, how quick you are to jump the gun if it meant helping your Lieutenant, “I-I’ll do it. I will.”

(How are you still so sweet? After all you’ve seen? Why aren’t you hardened? Why are you the bunny in all the places wherein he’s the wolf? How is it that you still manage to glow, even when you very well might be teetering on the precipice of an untimely, surely-brutal death? Simon doesn’t know. He doesn’t. He’s good at reading the room, digging into people’s minds- even the most fucked up ones, especially so- and finding out everything dark they’ve ever felt. With you it’s different. He often struggles to piece together a conclusion from just a smile you send him, wondering if there’s another layer to it. Stilling in his tracks whenever you laugh- so soft like you always do, pleasant like euphony- feeling something unbidden in his chest start to weigh.)

His chest puffs out a little at that, and he huffs low. And Ghost looks away from you, those umber eyes trailing out towards the window up above and somewhere behind you, and for a moment he just goes impossibly still, like a dog waiting for a sound, purposely searching for something there in the wilderness that doesn’t belong.

And you can’t help but feel like the two of you are somewhat out of place also, yet then again, if you were to think someone in the world had to share your loneliness with you, it’d be Ghost. Always. (Because you feel that you know him. He doesn’t have to say a word, his eyes say nothing, but simultaneously they scream everything too. All at once. All in one long wail.)

“No,” is all he says. All gruff and rasping. But soft too, somehow. A disinclined slump to his broad shoulders he only allows you and the team to be privy to (speaking of, Soap’s kneeing a few haybales together now, squishing them in so he’s got space to roll when he inevitably ends up stirring tonight)- but even then, it’s rare.

His eyes meets yours again, all shadows with a small, conniving highlight, brimmed with his balaclava.

“Scoot ova’.” he says it so simply, but your brain goes utterly blank for a fleeting moment.

His accent is quite thick- maybe you’ve lost yourself in it again, or fell too hard in the caramel pool of his eyes, or perhaps you’re just too tired to comprehend him right now- but once it clicks, you’re obedient to his wish. Right away.

The sound of clothes rustling fills the otherwise quiet atmosphere as you shimmy yourself all the way against the wall of hay to your side, letting Ghost- all big and tall- settle in beside you as you curl up to yourself. You’d burrow inside yourself if you could, face flushing warm as your Lieutenant’s body knocks and brushes against yours, and before you know it, the gentleness of shared breathing descends over you both as your noses point to the rafters. Dark, and silent. Comfortable, but at the same time not. A wordless dance of being convinced of your composure to having it singlehandedly ripped away whenever he made the faintest move beside you.

Ghost feels just slightly similar to drowning; just that cold world beneath the waves, hurtled into a murky tide, spun beneath turbulent waters. Uneasy, unsure of where the hell you are- only that you don’t know how you got in and you don’t know how to get out. Lungs aching, chest pouring…

But he feels like the merciful gasp of air when you finally resurface, too. That glimmer of hope, that split second thought of thank God I made it out alive as your chin thrashes over the ripples.

He’s the violent ocean and the life-ring thrown to you all at once. He is the silent chaos and he is the overwhelming relief- and he isn’t a kind man but the good side of him always seems to somehow win out.

“Ghost?” You breathe again. Not sure of even why, and your body quivers with sweat and nerves because Lieutenant’s so strong and he’s laying beside you (this isn’t even odd, this has happened before- sleeping with the team in cramped, awkward places that leave literally no room for complaints, but this time it felt different, like he was somehow closer).

His breaths even out in the pleasant air. And his silence could perhaps be welcoming on its own, but he deigns you with a reply anyway.

“What?” All gruff and low, thick yet- for you, now in the fall of night- gentle too. All Ghost.

(…But maybe partially Simon Riley, too, but you have trouble distinguishing two things when you’re hardly certain one even exists.)

“…” You chew on the words you want to say- or maybe you need to say them- but you don’t know what it is that sticks to your tongue like glue, and you’re rendered stupid, jaw-gaping, for a solid moment.

So you settle for simple. You settle for something good that will suffice, something pleasant and sweet but nothing that tiptoes too close to Ghost (you’re already close enough, and he did choose this bale with you, but still, you never know with him, and he’s not the sort of man you want to question).

“Goodnight.”

You’re sure he makes a soundless scoff at that. And for a splitsecond, you decide to take a peek over, because your stupid curiosity wins out and you just have to see him one last time before a permanent stillness ensues- sheepish hues darting over to his in the dimness—

“Night,” (you think you hear a scintilla of wry humor there) “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

—Only to find they’re already on you.

︻┳═一

The next time you and your Lieutenant are ‘forced’ to bunk together is closer to three weeks later, in a ratty shed by the river.

You turn away from Ghost just in time to miss him dragging out a body (finished him with a silencer, but it doesn’t matter anyway. his buddies wouldn’t have heard. his buddies are dead) as you awkwardly look around the decrepit place.

“Fix us up a place to call it a night, soldier.”

You’re quick to obey, chirping off an obedient yes sir as you take a few steps into the old storage shed.

It’s hard to see, and this time there’s not much moonlight to work with (when the door’s closed, it’ll go utterly dark), but with your scope’s flash you spot a disarray of pallets off to the corner, and you waste no time in hauling them together. You find a few cloths- puffy vests and discarded life-jackets, toss ‘em on the wood, and call it a cot.

“There we are,” you say with a smile when he inevitably walks in, door swinging shut as he does one last quick once-over before approaching.

“Good work,” (you hate the way your chest blooms at his simple praise; you’re a soldier, aren’t you? not some stupid schoolgirl) “Now let’s huddle up and kip down. Soap and the others cleared out the second field.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod curtly, fingers hesitating for a split second before you switch off the flash, the old shed blanketed in darkness as you set your rifle down and maneuver onto the makeshift bed (you weren’t complaining, though, you’ve both slept on far worse). Ghost follows in suit, his barely-clear silhouette lowering down onto the pallets with you, minding his muscle as he settles beside you.

…And for a while, it’s nice.

It doesn’t feel as awkward as it used to months- even just weeks, ago, yet still, sometimes you swear there’s an odd thickness to the air, an unprecedented drawl of tension that, like smoke, wisps by before dissipating. Like it was never there. (Yet the smell lingers, traces of something potent and simmering in your nostrils, caught in your clothes like gunpowder. Your hair smells of war and running, and Ghost smells so similar that it almost hurts, yet he’s more charred than you, you can feel it, and if you are a solider of team 141 than he is the bombs and shelter and war and relief.)

(No, perhaps he is the battlefield.)

That strange whiff of something close to vulnerability drifts in the space between you- wanting to say something, but having no words to offer, or maybe it’s a different feeling- like when you want to add something funny to the conversation, but it suddenly inches by and you’re left in your uncertainty, holding onto the joke with a tenuous grip. (Tenuous, yes, but you still want to say it, don’t you? You’re still looking for a window to speak your mind?)

And you’re sure Ghost can sense it too, because from beside you where he lies, he shifts just a bit more than usual, antsy and unable to find a comfortable position, his gear brushing against yours as you gnaw on the insides of your cheeks, feeling the same way.

“Lieutenant-“ “Sergeant-“

He turns over to you, and you see something in those dark eyes that glints as you glance over to him. His hues widen slightly, but whatever startle you thought you might’ve gleaned there flickers out and you’re once more left in the silence- this time, somewhat awkward, waiting for the other to break it.

You called him, and he called you. But now, neither of you return it.

Surprising perhaps the both of you, after what seems like forever passes and Ghost is the one to clear his throat, rasping out a quick, dismissive goodnight when your lips finally snap open to speak-

“G-Ghost—“

“Sleep, soldier. Tomorrow’ll be hell, and m’not carryin’ ya if y’legs give out.”

(He would. Of course he fucking would.)

︻┳═一

Soap and Ghost murmur for a bit with each other, tying off the threads of the last mission as you hesitantly approach. You don’t exactly remember Soap ever making it last night, but hours before sunrise you stirred in your slumber, and are now eighty-percent convinced you heard him settling in the otherwise quiet shed, exchanging a tired grunt or two with Ghost.

And it shouldn’t bother you. The men, you mean, because you’ve known them for months now, fought and bled and killed together, stuck to each other like glue as you endured all the shitty times and awful memories. But your fingers tighten around your rifle just that much more when you near, because Ghost is just so big and strong and the two mingle together for an unseemly yet fatal duo. (They’d never hurt you, never, and you know this damn well, but you’ve always had a shy nature and their respective sets of eyes never get any easier to stare at- you think sometimes you prefer the barrel of a gun over those sage, umber voids.)

Soap’s the first to spot you, those oceanic blues drifting over Ghost’s shoulder, rippling with what you suspect to be genuine mirth as you stop a foot short of the two.

“G’mornin’, sleepyhead,” he greets with a vaguely-boyish grin that sort of twinkles, eyes running over your dewy lashes, slightly-mussed hair and the crooked bend of your straps and gear bands. You smile sheepishly in lieu of a reply, giving him a tipsy little nod that his smile deepens at before your lips part open.

(And you’re afraid your voice will quiver or give out entirely when Ghost’s eyes, sunken beneath his skull mask- but just as haunting and intricate- snake over to you. But, thank God, it doesn’t.)

“Y-You got a spare ‘clava?”

Soap’s chest puffs and swells briefly when he scoffs halfheartedly, those gorgeous hues never slipping from yours for too long as he rests a hand along the butt of his pistol in his pocket, the other dipping back into the bag slung over his shoulders. (Big and broad, his build is similar to Lieutenant’s, but Ghost is taller and holds more mass. Both are purely muscle, though, all death and chaos- Soap’s just always been more friendly with his destruction, delivers it with a laugh or a pat on the back.)

“Y’embarrassed? Don’t think I’ve ever seen a bed head quite like y’rs, lass.” He says it with a playful chuckle, stepping forward (and his legs are long, he reaches you in an instant) and proffering the black mask out to you. You accept it with soft thanks, cheeks warm from embarrassment and perhaps some odd sort of pride as he ruffles your hair and smiles. Like, really smiles, the skin around his eyes wrinkling just slightly as he nods, “there y’are, lass,” he says, “we’ll all meet up back at base, yeah?”

“You’re leaving already?” You chirp highly, traces of dejection caught in your voice (aw, you sad he’s leaving? makes two of you), eyes all starry and confused as he toys with the straps of his vest and quirks his head to the side some. “‘Fraid so, got some loose ends to tie- won’t be long, promise.”

You accept his words with a small, silent nod, offering him a gentle, if not somewhat sleepy smile as he reaches a fist forward, knuckles you lightly on your collar, and belatedly brushes past you. The heels of his boots clip dully against the floor when he reaches the janky door of the shed, daylight weaseling in through the splits and cracks of the wooden walls. Bathing the three of you in a golden porridge of early morning and twittering birds and that odd emptiness of your stomach that always churns at around six o’clock.

With one last pleasant glance to Soap (his cerulean gaze seems to linger and corrode into you, somehow) you allow him to trade a simple goodbye with Ghost, wasting no more time in slipping the mask over your head as Johnny did the same. (Even in your head, it feels forbidden to call him that- only Ghost is allowed to- you don’t know why, but were never brave enough to beg the question.)

And he departs. And the once-comfortable silence betrays you and Ghost yet again.

Still, he turns over to you, letting the door shut, watching as you lower yourself onto the pallets and fix your shoelaces. (But your thumbs tremble, wrists twitching, nervous, like the task is foreign, like it’s not one of the simplest things you’ve ever done in this business of war.)

And those brown, all-seeing eyes sweep over you (you can feel it), those thick boots of his brushing over the dusty floor as he makes his way over.

Your hues collide with his, something off in the air- a calling, or a warning maybe, but it’s heavy and the look he meets you with just before he approaches plants a pit in your belly- frightful and needy- feeling so small and perfectly useless as it builds and builds and-

“Sergeant.”

“Yes?” Breathless without any good reason.

You wonder if he feels it, too. That weight in his tummy that buckles his knees, makes them knock together, dizzies his head. Makes his heart skip faster. But the thought is dismissed too quickly, because you’re certain it’s fear you feel, strong and overwhelming- too great a respect to label. And Ghost isn’t afraid, clammy palms have never been a part of his brand. He doesn’t hesitate.

Yet, now, that all seems like rubbish. Every preconceived idea of him you held withering away as Ghost does just what you knew he never would. His hand, all big and capable (stained with blood, too) hesitates.

But this time- unlike all those sleepless nights where you felt skin brush against yours unbidden, his eyes burning against your quiet profile as his fingers contemplated over your face- it reaches you. Fulfills what it wanted to for a long time coming.

And now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason. “Ghost,” you whisper, so thin it might break- and your voice does shake, like a leaf in the wind. There’s something in his eyes, you notice, as they trail along you, his large palm swallowing up your cheek, gloved fingertips eroding the thin fabric over your skin in the best way possible.

Every lick of pain comes with a spark of pleasure, a needy, gentle ache masquerading as limitless fear.

(But those deep-brown eyes know no limits.)

“You afraid of me?” Ghost is a lot of things. But now you have a niggling, loud feeling that who you’re gaping back at now isn’t he or his mask, but rather what’s beneath it.

You shakily stand, maybe to grasp the illusion of having some control over yourself, or perhaps just to get closer to the door if you wanted to make some stupid excuse to leave. “Simon- I-“

He cuts you off with a low huff, but it sounds more like a groan than anything else- all displeased yet thrilled all at once. It shuts you up. It paralyzes you. (Barely keeping your gaze on his simmering one, you want to lie on your fucking back, and for the life of you, you don’t know why.)

When he says nothing, just continues regarding you with that weird fucking look (it’s not bad- it’s good, you think, but terrifying too) and lets his hand finally slip off your cheek, you try again.

“Simon,” (Simon hears you swallow, watches your throat bob, all tender where he’s cold, soft where he’s covered in jagged heaps of ice) “I- W-We should go.”

Ghost takes a pensive moment to respond.

“We don’t even got our mission yet, do we?”

Your confusion must be palpable, brows pinching together in a cute little knot that has his belly doing backflips as your eyes sparkle up at him. There’s an odd twinkle to his own, broad chest swelling out for a bit longer than a breath should as your lips part open.

“We-…” (f-fuck, just speak, soldier!) “We’re meeting everyone at base, yes?”

Earning no response from him, and the silence quickly killing you- you add:

“I- I thought we… Were meeting up, all of us.”

He grunts at that, low and quiet. And you look up at him like he owns the world, like there’s nobody else in it but him, and your eyes are starry and so unapologetically warm that it burns him from the inside out. His chest aches, he’s wanted you for too long a time to not act on it, to not do something about it, but for once in a very long time, Simon’s… afraid.

Or maybe uneasy is the better word, because he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s so big and you’re so small and sometimes he worries that if he were to touch you without gloves on, you’d wither completely.

He’s used to that game. His kisses are gunpowder. His love is death, he believes it because he’s seen it. Everywhere. All the time.

But he can’t help it, not now. Not when he’s got you all alone and it’s like the birds chirping outside are telling him to fucking do something already- and Simon knows if he doesn’t make a move, someone else will. They’ll swoop in and steal you away, scoop you off your feet and treat you like a princess- the only way you ever should be- and you’ll be happy and smiling and so fucking far from him.

Safe.

…But maybe he’s selfish. He knows he’s not all that good, he wasn’t made to love or be loved- he is a product of war and brokenness and an endless cycle of pain- but maybe you can be his good thing.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters beneath his breath, “take it off.”

“What-“

“Show me your face.”

(Hah. How ironic; when every soul in the military who’s ever crossed him has wanted to say the same damn thing, but always balked before they could because his eyes alone are killer enough.)

His voice is a little rougher now, your brain registers it as an order, so with a shaky, uncertain hand, you peel off your balaclava and hold it awkwardly in your lap. And your hair’s quite messy from a wakeful night, and your skin glows ever so slightly from sweat and sleep and smeared gunpowder and your pulse is so rapid you fear it may explode.

You want to hide from him.

But, catching both of you by surprise, Simon leans in, one hand raking up his mask- stealing a blurry glimpse of his mouth- and captures your lips in his. And he doesn’t let you hide.

Run, either; he slots his hulking body up against yours, kneeling down on the wooden pallets as he lowers you atop them, making it physically impossible to wrest yourself away if he really wanted you to stay.

(And he really wants you to stay. Fuck.)

You gasp into the kiss, eyes instinctively screwing shut because you’re so fucking embarrassed and your legs feel heavy and your bones’ve gone to jelly because Simon is so big and strong and perfect and his lips are on yours.

“Simon,” you were going for a half-rebuttal, a plea for a moment to grasp just what the hell was happening. But you make a pathetic sound closer to a moan instead, all frail and cute as you whine his given name, and it makes his pants feel that much tighter, exchanging a groan into your mouth as he holds you beneath him.

And his grip is sort of awkward, you think, like he’s made the split-second decision to go all in but now he’s worried he fucked things up and you’ll end up hating him. So his tongue prods against your soft lips, hesitant, and his long lashes occasionally brush against your cheekbone, but he ultimately pulls away.

Like the recoil of a gun; sharp, sudden. There’s a blip of panic there, of what the hell did I just do. But there’s no regret. Because in Simon’s head, it had to be done- else he would’ve crumbled, else your smile would steadily become torture and someone else would’ve done it.

Your eyes are still shut when silence falls over the rundown shed and you feel the tip of his nose carve almost awkwardly in the juncture of your neck. Because you’re afraid. Because your tummy is burning and so is your face, your heart, too. Because there’s still a little unreasonable part of you that, despite feeling his lips brush against your collar, is scared that when you open them, he’ll be staring back at you- mask rucked up and all- genuinely Simon- and you don’t want to see his face if he doesn’t want you to.

“I should stop,” he murmurs into your neck. “I should stay away.” And it almost feels like it’s all over now, the fucked-up calm after the storm. The residual smoke and death on the battlefield- the smell of gunfire and metal. Water under the bridge—

“But that’d be hell.”

And he pulls the trigger again. Those lips, cold as bullet shells, colliding with yours once more. Nipping, and all tongue with the occasional clash of teeth, but it feels so fucking good and you realize with a spark of dismay that you don’t want it to stop.

Never.

“Simon,” and you’re chanting it now, all teary-eyed, lashes thick with pleasure as his mouth descends upon you, his deft fingers already working at tearing off your clothes- straps unbuckling, gear clinking softly as it rolls off the pallets and onto the floor.

Fear- respect- or whatever the hell you’ve always felt for Ghost- bleeds into something closer to… love, you think, and your chest is swelling by the time his gloved fingertips reach there, gliding over your bare skin. And you glow in the golden streaks of young sun, flesh soft and too fucking inviting to pass up on.

(He doesn’t.)

Simon leans away, then, and you dare open your eyes at the lost contact, the lower half of his face bathed in a dim-yellow, his balaclava clinging midway up the bridge of his nose. And within the cage of the printed skull (iconic and terrifying, sort of like batman- an omen of evil’s bane on the way), his brown hues glint, all hazy- far from sober as they sweep over you.

Flickering; giving out; flickering. Burning, and then lessening, sparking like a broken fuse before it becomes so hot you feel you may wither beneath him-

“Gorgeous,” he breathes.

And he’s on you again, tongue laving at your neck and chest, one hand kneading a tender breast while he takes a nipple in his mouth and sucks. You whimper; his cock throbs; he made the impromptu decision just as Soap left that he’d bring you to ruin, and his plans haven’t changed at all.

“I need you, Simon,” you confess, because you do. You need him, you’re sure of it. On the battlefield, on base, on any fucking mission you’re given. You need him above you and on you and inside you.

(Fuck, you want him inside, you want him everywhere. In the mushy, warm crevice between your ribcages and now, between the river of your thighs. Now now now—)

There’s a screech of a zipper. It jams, but he’s impatient and dislodges it quickly, flimsy metal snapping as he shrugs off some of the weight and tugs down his pants.

And, goodness, it’s big.

Flushed red at the tip, angry and twitching as he drags you in by your hips, appraising you with this simmering, foggy look that has your legs quietly splitting. But Simon’s big all over, and you’ve always known him to be stronger (so much stronger), so when he slots himself up with your core, murmurs out a string of reassurances and fuckin’ beautiful’s, you lie back and let him take you.

You, that pretty, sopping cunt, and your virginity.

And as he deflowers you (there’s a dull, hot pain, he’s so big and thick- it hurts- but he folds himself over you and hushes you and tells you it’s okay), you think he takes your heart, too. (If he didn’t already have it.)

When the sting subsides and he realizes you’re not sniffling into his shoulder anymore, he bumps up the speed, entering a controlled, careful pace, the wood jostling beneath you as he fucks and breaks and loves you.

“Please,” you beg, “give it to me.”

“Am, darlin’,” he rasps at your ear, an echo of a high-pitched sigh there. “Giving ya everything I’ve got… And you’ll fuckin’ take it, yeah?”

When you nod and tighten up around him, those velvet walls sucking him in like a perfect vice, and pair it with a mewling yes, Simon, something in his lower abdomen clutches. A pit forming there already, all hot and pleasant as your pussy overwhelms him, beckons him further in until he’s hitting deep deep deep and a pale-pink is oozing between your legs, traces of your blood caught on his pelvis as he gives it to you. Everything. All of it.

Every piece of him, every bad memory and gentle kiss on his forehead, every grey cloud and good grade and bout of death- he stuffs it all inside you. Buries his hate and love there, cock grazing your womb as he thinks about the one he came from, and all the shouting and cracked beer bottles and spatters of smoke and red on the field.

And you suddenly tighten up around him completely, eyes going wide as your mouth gapes with some unwarranted, foreign wave of pleasure.

“There y’are,” he grunts, half breathless and half utterly feral, brown voids enamored with the sight of you crumbling beneath him as his jaw falls open and his eyes roll back. All the way back, ‘til his lashes- pale in the morning sunshine- kiss the points of his cheekbones and he can’t hide the desperate groan he tries to stifle in the dip of your neck.

Gloved hands grasping at the soft fat of your hips, digging and unintentionally hurting, leaving purplish semi-circles behind as his hips stutter one last time.

And he paints you on the inside. Roots himself there. Cums with a murky moan of your name that claws itself into every vital part of your soul and refuses to let go. (You don’t want it to.)

And the longer you two lie there, bathing in the gold of early morning, the less inclined he feels to leave.

Your fingertips, delicate as snow, graze over his back, swollen lips tickling his jawbone and the side of his face as he pants into the arch of your neck.

And his nose nestles into your aura, the messy tresses and gentle wildlife of you, gloved hands marking up your hips. And Ghost thinks your hair smells of war, too.

[canyourfavesurvivecastledracula]

James T. Kirk?

My immediate instinct is he would choose the wolves.

So Kirk's main strength is he listens to his advisors. He doesn't leap to conclusions, he asks for analysis first. But if he's in Castle Dracula he hasn't got his advisors - but he still has the sense that bids him heed them. He'll make his observations and keep his logs, and draw conclusions in due course.

I think Kirk would be as good or better at plating Scheherezade as Jonathan is. He knows how to negotiate and he knows how to seduce. He spooks less easily too. I think he and Dracula would be well matched at playing the Game and that might be enough to keep the Game interesting enough for him to survive. Heck, he'd probably challenge him to perpetual chess.

His chief disadvantage is that he's very good at escaping things. I don't think he would succeed at escaping, but I think he would make more and better attempts than Jonathan does, because that's his job that's what he does. Given how poorly Dracula reacts to Jonathan's own attempts, it's possible that being too much better at it would convince Dracula that he is a real threat and make a point of ending him.

If he's allowed to have his own genre conventions, I think there's an outcome where he successfully convinces one of the Girlies to help him. Although I think if she does that attempt ends with her dead (Dracula does not tolerate betrayal) and Kirk still trapped, and punished on top of that. (What Dracula doesn't realize is that taking Kirk's clothes only makes him stronger).

If Dracula doesn't kill him for trying to escape one too many times and if he makes it to June 30th, I am confident in Kirk's ability to make it down the wall, and I think he would probably try to hit him with the shovel too. Well actually he would have improvised a weapon before now. So honestly I do think Kirk has all the skills needed to survive Castle Dracula, and none of the obvious fatal flaws.

But I still do think that if it comes down to a choice between death and vampirism (as on June 29th) he'll choose death. Kirk is very willing to die for his principles, and to defy the expectations of his captors just for the sake of it. And I don't think even he could take on an entire pack of wolves by himself.

So this one for me is a really close call. Like his own genre won't let him die that way so he would be beamed out at the last second. But going by the parameters I've laid out, I think he would almost make it, but ultimately not survive Castle Dracula

[cleoluvrr]

the worst (rafe cameron x heyward!reader)

SYNOPSIS: once you got all that you wanted, nothing was ever the same.

WARNINGS: angst, betrayal of trust

your head felt heavy with pain, frustration, and dread. a slurry of emotions took home within the folds of your minds and there were so many thoughts that you couldn’t pick a single one to focus on. there were so many sounds in a silent room with a single occupant, all echoing against the walls of your skull. your body was on fire but your blood was freezing as it ran through your veins, each cell like a needle of ice as it traveled through your heart.

it felt as if you just might combust.

what you wanted to do the most was scream, but your mouth was glued shut, lips tied up tightly and jaw clenched with a force so strong that your teeth could shatter.

rafe cameron had made a fool out of you. he was a narcissist and a thief that let nothing stand in the way of what he wanted. his greed knew now bounds and it disgusted you. it wasn’t fair that he got everything he wanted and you had to work yourself to the bone just to get a quarter of what he has. 

the freedmen's church sat empty aside from you and the woodland creatures that used it for shelter. it smelt of mildew and old wood, and the eerie feeling of someone watching you was driving you slowly insane. your eyes flew up to the beams holding the roof in place, the hiding spot of the golden cross left just as bare as the pews surrounding you. 

the building was your source of peace and punishment for your failures. 

the memories of that day plague you endlessly. the sound of pope yelling at the pogues out of frustration, them chasing after him as you remained in the same spot long after. the pain you and pope felt was different from whatever the rest of them did. for them it was an inconvenience, but for you and your brother it was a gut-wrenching, soul-crushing feeling of defeat. a torment that was generational. for yourself, there was an additional layer of betrayal.

the man you once cared for deeply had taken advantage of you.

it was all you could think of for months. your foolishness had not only hurt you, but the people that you loved the most. you should’ve never trusted rafe to do right by anyone, to have decency. you should have listened to jj when he told you to stay away from him, but you were stubborn. if you wanted to do something, you were going to do it. maybe that was your fatal flaw.

you came to the church a lot after the cross was stolen. the company of those residing in spirit was more comforting than those of the living, even if they left you feeling unsettled. you felt like you deserved it for disappointing them; your ancestors, your friends, your family.

it felt as if they all stood in the pulpit staring down at you in the pews, head hung in shame and chest heavy with guilt.

the feeling became stronger when the familiar sound of an engine grumbled outside the worn walls of the church, disgruntled spirits less than pleased with the sudden presence of the trespasser.

the sound of his footsteps didn’t move you, nor did the heat of his ocean blue eyes boring into your skin from behind. both of you remain silent for a long time, the air tense and filled with unspoken grievances. 

“why are you here?” rafe’s familiar voice broke the silence between you, the familiarity of the sound bringing no warmth to you as it once did.

“why are you here?” you repeated his question sharply, irritation dripping from your pores. “don’t you think you’ve desecrated this place enough?”

your throat vibrated in timing with each word that rolled off of your tongue. you made no effort to face the man behind you; he came into your territory without invitation, if he wanted to see your face, he could do it himself.

he gave no reply for a long moment, silence falling between you once again. his feet sounded against the ground as he approached with caution, hesitation heard clearly in each step closer to your seated frame in the front pew.

you didn't look up when he took the space in front of you, eyes still focused on the dusty, rotting floorboards. 

“baby–”

“don’t.” your voice sliced through the cool air to cut rafe short. “don’t you ever fucking call me that, rafe cameron.” the sound of the nickname lit a fire in you–an angry, dancing flame of reds and yellows that made your face hot with emotion. “i should have listened to everyone when they told me to stay away from you.”

finally you lift your gaze to meet his own. his eyes, once a beautiful ocean blue, were a dull shade of overcast skies to you. his beauty brought you no butterflies, not anymore. your soft spot for his bright smile and charming face had been eaten away by the moths that killed every monarch in your heart. instead you felt sick, saliva gathering beneath your tongue as the sight of him made the guilt you felt amplify tenfold. 

you swallowed down the liquid, but the sick feeling never went away

“i didn’t mean for everything to turn out like this, y/n…i really didn’t.” his voice was coated in sincerity, but you’d do well to never believe a word that came out of his mouth again. “i just…it–” the blonde ran a hand over his head as he struggled to find his words. “i had to do what i had to do for my family, okay? i would never do something to hurt you–not on purpose.”

“well, you did hurt me, rafe.”

“and i understand that.” he nodded at you. “i hurt you, and you probably think i’m a piece of shit. but–just think of being in my position for a minute; wouldn’t you do the same thing? sometimes we have to make hard decisions, so don’t think that i wanted to do that, y/n…i had to. my family needed the cross.”

if you had the energy, you'd laugh in his face. rafe’s words would be comical had this been a badly written sitcom. you mustered up a hearty scoff instead, the dramatic sound echoing off the walls of the church as you stared up at him is disbelief. 

“you didn’t need the cross, rafe. ward is a greedy bastard and you're doing his bidding because you want his approval.” you didn’t hold back your disgust with the man standing before you, or your disdain for his father. “do you know why it was hidden in here? because denmark tanny knew that the people needed it. people that were stolen from their homes and didnt have a single thing to their names. my people, rafe–that’s why he hid it in a fucking freedman’s church.”

“y/n–”

“you live in that man’s house–you steal his gold, you steal his cross, and you desecrate the grave of his wife. a grave that he was killed for digging.” tears were beginning to build up in your eyes from the rage and feelings of betrayal consumed you. “you use me as a pawn…you come into this church and disturb the souls that lived lifetimes without freedom because of people like you, so fueled by your desire for power that you’ll stop at nothing to get it…or keep it.”

rafe stared at your wordlessly, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he scraped his mind for a response.

standing from your seat, you shoved him out of the way as you made your way to the back of the building. if he stumbled you didn’t notice, eyes trained on the exit on the other side of the room. everything you’d been holding back for months was starting to come to the surface after just a few minutes in his presence.

you had to get away from him or your heart just might explode and paint the wooden panels lining the walls a dark shade of red.

you face him once more as you reach the doorway of the church, a thought reaching your mind through the thick clouds of emotions that forever surrounded it. a breeze caused a chill to run down your spine and your jacket covered arms to fill with goosebumps.

the tall man stood in the same place you left him, stupefied and disgustingly handsome. it was the first time you’d ever seen him rendered speechless. you didn’t need to add insult to injury, but he didn’t deserve the kindness of your silence.

he should live with everything he’s ever done haunting him just as it haunts you.

“to tell you the truth, i wish we never…” shaking your head, you allow him to infer rather than finishing your sentence. the embarrassment from your stupid decisions was too strong for you to say it out loud. it only managed to irritate you further–he should feel shame for his actions, not you. “you really are the worst, rafe cameron. i hope you know that.”