#he also used to mock me til i was near tears for his own amusement

[yardsards]

local man forced to think about their father: one dead, countless injured.

[vamprnce]

Stay With Me

Johnny gets an urgent call in the middle of the night, Playa gets an unexpected visit from an old friend

slight bossgat // mentions of blood and violence, this fic is the second part (which is technically the first dghncfbsf) of Busted and Red and background on how Chris went to the hospital. Another oc is featured.

First part

It's way past midnight and playa's now getting home, he just came back from a party some other Saints he made good friends before with were throwing. He wasn't going to stay too long at first, but everyone pressured him to stay longer. What the hell, right? He was enjoying himself, he's still glad he also didn't get as smashed as the others so he could actually drive properly.

Walking up to the door he had his keys out, about to unlock it he noticed the door was cracked open. Playa froze in the spot he was standing and slowly reached back for his pistol. His nerves were through the roof but his face said otherwise, focused mixed with determination. Gun in one hand, he slowly pushed open the door with the other, he doesn't want to pull a Johnny Gat and just rush in and start shooting. There might be a group of asshole in there, it'd be suicide just to rush in.Going slowly down the tiny hallway with his gun drawn he got to where the open doorway is connecting to the tiniest apartment in Stilwater. He leaned against the wall for a second getting prepared and whipped around the corner ready to shoot until he saw Him.

Playa almost dropped the gun completely being hit with shock. Just one single Carnales member was sitting there at the table in the dining room slash kitchen. The intruder had a huge smirk on his face and sat like he was in his own house not playa's. He sat there quiet for awhile, smiling, and repeatedly stabbed the same spot over and over into the table, making a lot of deeps marks showing how long the Carnales was waiting here. His eyes were like a hawk, staring down playa without a blink.

"Cortez?... what the fuck are doing here?!" playa finally says. The intruder, now identified as Cortez, just chuckles and stabs the knife a final time into the table hard keeping it in place there. "Well, I see you still remember me Chris. It's been too long, huh? How many years? Two or three? I like your place by the way, sorry for dropping by unannounced. Would've called but y'know." Playa stood there silently, the pistol gripped tightly in his hand down by his side. "What are you doing here?" playa was gritting his teeth, way on edge seeing his presence again. "Just wanted to drop by, say hello to an old friend."

Cortez stood up while pulling the knife back out of the table. They stood across from each other staring each other down, playa was quickly getting irritated with his stupid game. "I'm going to ask you one more fuckin' time, what are you doing here?" he was pissed, he was cautious but stepped closer towards him. Cortez just smiled and chuckled in amusement, "you're pretty cute when you get mad y'know? Still like the dumb lost puppy you were years ago, haha!" Playa felt lost at that comment, Cortez a guy he ran with before the joining the Saints doing petty crimes was standing there, mocking him. Is that all he wanted? Was that his purpose being here breaking into his apartment? "W-what?" playa responded confused. He clicked his tongue, "Still dumb as fuck too, huh? You still running with those fuckin' lowlife's, too?" He kept mocking and insulting.

Playa had his free hand in a fist, gritting his teeth so hard they'd probably crack. He just let him taunt him, he didn't want to start a fight with him, though he'd have the advantage with him having a gun and Cortez having only a knife. But he knows how he is, he knows how he fights, he's even dangerous with a knife as he is with a gun.

"Can you just get the fuck out?!" playa yelled, he was running out of patience now he doesn't want to deal with this. "Oho! The little puppy can bark, too? Whatcha gonna do little bitch?" Cortez said smirking wide. "Why the fuck are you here, Cortez? Why don't you just fuck off with the rest of your shit bag putas with the Carnales?" playa finally snapped. Cortez closed the distance between them in a second, he was staring down on him with a look of murder. Playa's eyes went wide and looked up at him stepping back. "L-look, why don't you leave okay?" Cortez started laughing at him, "Man you act tough, but your just a little pussy. I thought you were this tough gangsta now, ripping up our turf with your dumbass friend's. You can't even take me on?! What are you scared?"

Playa just furrowed his brows at him still trying to keep his distance, he wouldn't admit it but he was feeling frightened by him. He can smell the alcohol on him too, which he knows makes him erratic and violent. Playa glances down and see's him holding the large knife like he was ready to strike. Cortez's attitude shifts, "I ain't leaving 'til you're on the ground begging for mercy, you lil cunt." He kept getting in his personal space and right in his face, playa's not getting out of this the easy way.

Without warning Cortez grabs playa by the neck and slammed him down to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. The pistol that was in his hand slipped out of his grasp and slid across the floor away from them. Cortez sat heavily on top of him holding him down and the knife blade right on his neck. "Are you going to start begging or are we doin' this the hard way?" he flashed a grin showing teeth. Playa's mind went blank for a second, refocusing again he slapped his arm away and punch him hard straight in the face. It bought him a little time to crawl away and reach for the gun again, sadly Cortez recovered and snaked an arm around his neck pulling him up in a head lock. He squeezed tightly around his neck choking playa. "You little piece of shit, you could've just made this easy for the both of us. You asked for this."

He gasped for air and struggled against him, he needed to get the gun but first he had to get out of his grasp. "Stop fuckin' struggling, bitch. You're just making it harder for yourself." Cortez snarled in his ear, tightening his grip. Playa kept gasping, he couldn't get choked out by this asshole, he thought to himself, he killed strongholds of his crew, he took down the damn Vice King's. He can't get fucking killed here, not by him. Playa gritted his teeth and head-butted him in the face hoping that would get him off but that just pissed off Cortez even more.

Playa stop stopped struggling when he felt went something stab his side. "I'm done fuckin' playing with you low life's" Cortez's voice was beyond threatening, he held he the knife side ways and punctured it right under the right side of his ribs, he kept pushing it right into him. He wasn't choking him anymore but kept him in the headlock. Playa's eyes went wide and his heart thumped hard in his chest, he let out a scream when he kept pushing the knife farther. "Ya gonna beg now, little bitch?" Cortez taunted again. "F-fuck you" playa stuttered, trying to hold it together and not to show weakness to him. Cortez just chuckled, pulling the knife back out and letting go and let playa collapse on the floor. He hold the bloodied knife in his hand and stared down at him, displeased.

Playa coughed trying to catch his breath and gripped his side shakily, already feeling the blood rushing out of the wound. Playa grabbed the gun and staggered standing back up, face enraged looking at him. "If you want to shoot me then go ahead!" Cortez exclaimed loudly stretching his arms out wide. Playa whipped his arm up aiming directly at him while he held his wound trying to stop the bleeding. He pulled the trigger and--  

Nothing.

The bullet got lodged, playa cursed under his breath. Can this really be happening now? Playa looked in disbelief. That was enough time for Cortez to get the upper hand again, he swunged and his fist connected straight to playa's face, hitting right in his eye. They struggled on the ground for awhile throwing punches, playa getting cuts and bruises on his arms in the struggle. It was getting dangerous now, playa was bleeding out faster making his fighting weaker. Eventually Cortez overtook him, playa's breathing was heavy and his body feeling like it's on fire. Cortez was ready to end this fight and put the blade back on his neck, the blood on it previously was still fresh. Playa tried his best to keep pushing him away while he's on top of him but he was getting tired. He kept a hold on his arm trying to keep the knife back off him.

"Looks like I win" Cortez says while smiling, pressing the blade into the side of his neck, causing it bleed a little. He held playa's head by the hair keeping it still. Playa's head was tilted facing to his right, he saw a different gun laying on the ground near them. He got an idea but struggled against the man on top of him to grab for it. Finally he grasped the handle. Right at the time he aimed at him and pulled the trigger, Cortez slit the knife across his neck. Playa hit him right in the forehead making him fall right off of him, hitting the floor. He panicked and gasped, quickly holding his neck where the new wound is. His body shook but he laid still on the ground. He has to call Johnny, he needed him here.

He fumbled trying to get his phone out, his breathing was shallow and he felt dizzy with the blood lost. He quickly called Johnny, he just hoped he picked up. His eyes started to tear up and his hands couldn't stop shaking, he almost dropped the phone before Johnny finally picked up. Johnny didn't even have time the say hello, "J-Johnny... there's.. there's a Carnales... and blood... I-I need you over here" he said in a hurry and panic, he's trying so hard to keep it together. "Woah, woah, slow down man, what happened? Where are you?" Johnny replied with worry in his tone. Playa can barely respond it was hard to breathe and he's bleeding out quickly, "My... house." Johnny can hear his breathing over the phone and his anxiety rose.

"Alright, just hold on okay? I'll be there in a sec, don't move." His tone was stern, but not angry. He needed to stay calm for him. "Hey you hear me?" Playa started drifting in and out of consciousness and dropped the phone. Johnny wasted no time he quickly got ready and got his gun. He ran towards his car and sped towards the kids house, he parked right out front and saw the door wide open. It wasn't making Johnny feeling better about the situation.

He rushed in gun drawn, and froze seeing the kid, a fucking Carnales dead on the ground and pools of blood near both of them. His heart fell to the pit of his stomach. He gave no attention to the Carnales and just ran towards the kids side. There was blood everywhere, his breathing was weak and his eyes were barely open. "Yo, I'm right here, just stay with me?" Johnny basically yelled. "Johnny..." playa just whispered. "You're going to be okay, just stay awake alright?" He said, trying his best to reassure the kid. Johnny saw the tiniest smile from him.

He started putting pressure onto playa's side and put some cloth he found on his neck, hoping it'll help stop the bleeding at least. The kid didn't look good, he was barely responsive. He had to act fast, he scooped up the kid, making him have a breathy groan as a response being picked up. "Just hang in there." he said in a whisper that was only meant for him to hear. Johnny was rushing towards his car, carefully putting playa in the passenger seat. He couldn't wait for an ambulance to come, it wouldn't make it in time.

Playa was limp in the seat, not even conscious anymore. The cloth's he put on the wounds were soak through with blood.  Johnny started the car and gripped the wheel, stepping on the gas as hard as he could and sped towards the hospital. He was furious but overall anxious about the kid in the next seat over. He glanced at him quickly the way there and he look so pale. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it but he couldn't think that way, not now. He has the help his friend, he has to keep him alive.

Getting to the hospital felt like 40 years. He rushed the kid in and the nurses and staff quickly set him on a stretcher and rolled him through the doors about to go through surgery. Johnny stood there, he couldn't think of anything, everything happened so fast he didn't even know what happened back there. It was three am, and Johnny just sat there in the waiting room, he didn't have the heart to just leave when the kid was going through surgery. He couldn't stop thinking about when he got to his apartment, he was so angry, why was a Carnales there? Who the fuck decided to take playa out by themselves? What the fuck even happened?

He laid back into the seat and sighed loudly, he noticed the blood on his hands. Like that made him feel even better. Aisha must be worried too, he basically ran out in a hurry after he got that call. He felt so tired. He hopes the kid is alright.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Contrition: Chapter 4

Pairing: Chase Collins x Female!Witch!Reader Summary: Your and Chase’s bliss quickly turns to horror with the arrival of some unexpected guests. Warnings: Swearing (always), mentions of murder, struggles with addiction, mentions of sex, nudity, violence, blood, death Word Count: ~4,578 A/N: *evil laughter* Also, thank you to everyone who’s been reblogging and leaving comments! I really, really appreciate all of it!

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

You let out a long sigh and relaxed into Chase’s arms, breath catching ever so slightly as he moved, dragging one of the blankets that had been shoved aside over both of you.

“Goodnight, beautiful,” he murmured, though he already sounded nearly asleep.

You grinned and placed a lingering kiss to his chest before murmuring a “Goodnight, Chase,” and falling asleep immediately after.

You awoke a little groggily, mouth a little dry, limbs a little sore, and it took you a moment to realize what woke you up and why you couldn’t move.

You opened one bleary eye and stared at the breathtakingly serene image of Chase asleep next to you, big arms wrapped securely around your waist. The blanket had fallen low around your waists while you slept and you almost wished he was far enough away that you could take a peek at him in all his naked glory, but the thing that woke you up caught your attention again.

Someone was knocking politely but a little insistently at the front door. You let out a long sigh and tried your best to shuffle out of Chase’s arms, noting a little petulantly that he’d slipped out of you at some point in the night, but he snuffled and stirred before you got very far and reeled you back into his chest.

“Dun’ go,” he murmured, voice deep and a little croaky from still being half asleep.

You fought back the urge to laugh at his sleepy, frowny face, and placed a firm kiss right between his eyebrows. That, at least, softened his scowl for a second, but it returned with a vengeance when you began extracting yourself from his embrace again.

“Gotta get the door, Sweet Thing,” you whispered. He didn’t even open his eyes as he leaned forward to kiss you. One of his big hands cupped your face gently and he used it as a guide to let him find your lips, but you laughed and clapped a hand to his mouth before he could get too close. “I’m not kissin’ you ‘til you brush that nasty mouth of yours,” you teased gently.

Chase groaned in earnest at that and finally released you. “No fun,” he muttered, though his lips were quirked up at the corners as he opened one of those stunning steel blue eyes and pointed it blearily at you.

You chuckled and ducked in to place another kiss on his forehead, laughing harder when he tried to pull you in for a real kiss. You dodged his outstretched arms and danced away from the bed, winking playfully at him as both of his eyes opened a little comically wide at the sight of you completely naked. The show was over fast, though, as you pulled on the nearest clean-looking shirt and pants.

“It’s probably my neighbors Marianne and Roberto and their daughter Angelina. They always stop by my house during Girl Scout Cookie season because they know I’m a soft touch. I always end up buying a case of Thin Mints, Samoas, and Tagalongs each.”

Chase’s nose crinkled up in disgust. “You have terrible taste in cookies.”

You scoffed at that as you finished buttoning your pants. “Alright then, cookie connoisseur. What kind do you want?”

Chase smirked up at you from the bed, his smile only growing when your gaze kept drifting down his body. “Trefoils. 24 boxes, please.”

You stared at him in horror. “Shortbread? Really?” You were about to give him a piece of your mind, but the knocking at the door was growing louder and a little more impatient. You didn’t blame them. It was getting cold out fast these days. “Coming!” you called down the halls. You fixed Chase with a pointed stare. “Teeth. Brush,” you said, pointing at him threateningly before you disappeared through the doorway, the sound of his gentle laughter following you and making you smile.

You couldn’t help but grin like an idiot all the way to the door. Last night had been… amazing. And now you were getting cookies.

So lost in your own thoughts of Chase, it took you a split second longer than it should have to realize it wasn’t your nice neighbors, the Samsons, standing on your porch.

The overwhelming stench of rotting, rancid meat hit you like a wave and it was all you could do not to spill the contents of your stomach on the spot. You did however, gag a bit, which only seemed to anger or amuse the Sons of Ipswich staring at you, expressions ranging from apprehensive to mocking to furious.

“Where is he?” the oldest- Caleb- asked, anger boiling behind his eyes.

You glared at him, mind kicking into overdrive. They know about Chase. They know I have him. They know he’s probably here. Fuck. Please, stay in the fucking bedroom. Don’t come out here right now. “Who the fuck are you talking about? And why the fuck do you think you have the right to just show up at my house? What if the other hedge witches find out? I’ll be a laughing stock at the convention!” you hissed.

One of them- Pogue, if you had to guess- frowned at you in confusion. “You have conventions?”

Your baleful gaze turned on him. “Yes. We swap potion recipes, rare crystals, useful tomes, cookie recipes, and knitting patterns,” you said dryly. You turned back to Caleb, who seemed to more or less be the leader. “Now, I’ll ask again. What the fuck are you doing at my house uninvited?” Why the hell didn’t my wards warn me? They should have blocked them from teleporting themselves within ten miles of my house. They shifted a bit and you could barely see a loud yellow SUV (A Hummer, maybe? Did people still drive Hummers?) sitting in your driveway. Ah, they drove in. Great.

The loud-looking, angry one finally took a half step forward, only stopped from entering your house by one of Caleb’s firm hands shooting out to stop him. “Quit fucking with us, Hedge Witch. We know he’s here.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. He was the most impulsive of all of them and it showed. Even though he ascended close to last he looked at least a few years older than the others. “I’ve already told you, I have no idea who you’re talking about. Now leave me the hell along before I hex your asses into next Sunday.”

Reid pushed past Caleb’s arm at the threat, his temper flaring dangerously. You would normally have been afraid- a double ascended warlock and three ascended warlocks were far beyond your hope of defeating conventionally- but the need to protect Chase overrode all of it. “Don’t threaten me you fucking bitch,” he spat. He got all of one toe over the threshold of your house before your wards etched into the doorway flared to near-blinding brightness and sent him flying back so far that he landed in the middle of the field across the street from your house.

The other three watched this happen with wide eyes, but Reid was up within a second of hitting the ground, eyes black and face twisted with fury. He was back in front of your door again in a blink of an eye, staring balefully down at you with those soulless black eyes.

“Reid,” Caleb said carefully, but Reid didn’t so much as flinch.

“I wonder how long these can keep us back,” Reid spat, raising a hand to slowly press on the field your wards created.

“Reid,” the last one- Tyler- hissed, looking between you and Reid nervously.

The wards on your door flared again, but Reid was able to stand his ground with his powers backing him up this time. You watched with wide eyes as your wards began to sputter and black out one by one. Only a few more seconds and-

Caleb’s hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist, finally tearing Reid’s burning gaze from you. They had a silent, furious conversation for a moment before Reid tore his hand from Caleb’s and fisted his hands at his sides, eyes clearing to their usual blue.

Caleb gave him one last, wary look before turning to look back at you. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped it for a few seconds before he flipped it so you could see the screen.

There, on what was likely footage from a traffic cam, were you and Chase in your dirty little black Jeep. The picture was clear enough that there’d be no mistaking the two of you.

Caleb was studying you closely, but your face remained carefully impassive as you panicked internally. “We know he’s been seen with you on multiple occasions. We also know there haven’t any been suspicious, unexplainable deaths since you visited Ipswich all those months ago. We thought he was gone when he didn’t show up for seven years, but then this. You. The sightings. It’s only a matter of time until he comes after us again or hurts someone else.” Caleb paused then, eyes softening a little. “Is he hurting you? Controlling you with magic?” he asked gently as though you were some delicate little thing that would break with the slightest pressure.

But you could work with this. They believed you an unwilling participant in your relationship with Chase (how wrong they were!), a pawn in his scheming. You prayed that your luck would continue to hold out and Chase would stay out of sight just a little bit longer.

Time to hope those acting classes in high school payed off. “I-” you bit the word back and grimaced as though it hurt for you to talk. “He-” you choked out again, face twisted into a grimace.

“What? What did he do to you? We can help,” Pogue said urgently.

“Not here,” you breathed, hands flying to your head to clutch at the sides, breath coming in gasps.

“He’s not here?” Reid inferred, scowl seemingly permanently attached to his face.

You nodded quickly. “Doesn’t- Leaves- Shows up-” You hoped that Chase wouldn’t hear any of this from his spot in the farthest part of the house. They had to leave quickly, or this charade wouldn’t matter at all.

“He comes and goes?” Tyler guessed, and you nodded quickly.

Caleb shifted uncomfortably at the sight of you in what seemed to be so much pain. “Let us help you. We can undo what he did and-”

“No!” you hissed. “Thought of that. Failsafes.”

They stared at you for a moment longer before understanding passed across Caleb’s face. “He knew we’d find the two of you eventually. He made sure you wouldn’t be able to talk to us if we tried to remove his spells.”

Another quick nod and Reid and Pogue were swearing under their breath while Caleb and Tyler looked troubled.

After a moment, Caleb nodded. “Alright. We’ll fall back until we come up with a plan to save you and-”

“Hey, Honey. Did you finish buying those cookies yet? I-”

The six of you froze in unison as Chase turned around the corner, sweatpants slung low on his hips, bare chest completely exposed.

The moment hung in the air, then many things happened at once. Chase dove forward to put himself between you and the other Sons. You activated all your emergency house wards which would hopefully be enough of a distraction to give you and Chase a chance to escape. Caleb and Reid reached forward, eyes black as coal, and nullified your wards with a flick of their wrists, dashing your hopes for a  getaway. Pogue and Tyler stepped forward and used their power to freeze you in place.

Chase flung himself in front of you, arms stretched out wide and and a vicious scowl placed on his face. Under his arm you saw Reid and Caleb step forward, faces set as they gathered power in their hands.

No, you don’t have powers, you wanted to scream at him. You’ll be ripped to pieces by that attack. Your mouth tried to form the words, but no sound came out. Pogue and Tyler’s spell was oppressive in its power and a wave of renewed hatred for the Sons of Ipswich rolled through you.

Chase turned his back on them and stared down at you with soft, open blue eyes and you stared up at him in horror. No, I don’t want to see you die, you screamed in your head.

“I love you,” he whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear it. His smile was sad but resigned and you wanted to scream at him, tell him to run. He had come so far. He didn’t deserve to die. Not now.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, leaning forward to place a feather-light kiss to your forehead. His eyes were closed but he took a step back, ready to accept their judgement if it meant you’d be saved.

Fuck. No. No no no no no no.

You felt more than saw the spell begin to finish. The air sparked dangerously around you, setting every nerve of your exposed skin on fire.

You didn’t think. You only knew that Chase was completely incapable of defending himself from their attack. Power coalesced in the wards etched into your skin, nearly overpowering the static of the Sons’ spell, but all at once you were able to move again.

By the time Chase realized you’d moved, you were already diving in front of him, digging frantically in your pockets for your warding crystal; the one you usually kept on yourself in case of emergencies.

But it wasn’t there, and by the time you were looking up, mid-step, the spell was flying at you, a see-through warping of the air around it, deadly sharp and fast.

You felt as though you’d been shoved backwards as it hit you.

“Huh,” you whispered, staring at the Sons, mouth open in a perfect “O” of surprise.

And then the world tilted and you went down. Voices on either side of you cried out in alarm and it was with great difficulty that you focused on the one you cared about most. You blinked a few times, confusion clouding your thoughts like a sticky paste. Why was everything so slow?

“No, Sweetheart. No. Why? Please, look at me, Sweet Thing.”

That was Chase’s voice.

With what seemed like a monumental effort you turned your head to look at him, a dopey smile lighting your face up when you saw that he wasn’t hurt. Dimly, you realized he was holding you in his arms. Those thick thighs were under your legs and both strong arms were wrapped around your torso, clutching you tightly to his chest.

“You gotta run, Chase. They wanna hurt you,” you breathed. You lifted your hand up to his face, wondering why it felt like lead as you brushed some of his hair out of his eyes. They were dark without the light of the sun to brighten them, even more so with the confusion and unease that seemed to be running through every fiber of his being.

He just shook his head forcefully and pulled you tighter to his chest. “Why did you do that, Baby? Why?” he gasped. It wasn’t until a droplet of moisture landed on your nose that you realized he was crying almost silently, tears running down his face.

You smiled up at him, but couldn’t muster the energy to wipe his tears away. The amount of energy it must have taken to block their attack must have been enormous. You hoped you’d at least be able to drag yourself to your bed. “You’ve done so good, Chase. Can’t let them take that away,” you said, though your tongue felt like cotton in your mouth, making you slur a word here or there.

Chase tried in vain to blink away his tears, and his gaze turned furious as he looked up at the other Sons. “Fix her,” he hissed venomously at them.

You frowned in confusion. What was he talking about? You were tired, maybe, but you’d be ok once you rested for a week or two. What was he waiting for? He had to run away while he still could. You used some of your quickly dwindling strength to reach up and make him look at you, but you took one look at your hand and gasped.

Your hand, which had been resting against your stomach, was now covered in red, tacky blood.

Oh. That makes sense. I’m dying.

The other Sons might have responded, but you could barely focus now. The world was getting very dark very fast. Somehow, you weren’t afraid. You knew the In Between intimately and what was this but the next great adventure?

With the last of your strength you reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. It was hot as coals compared to your chilly touch, but it drew Chase’s attention immediately.

Black eyes met yours and you let out a tiny, shocked exhale. You were so weak your seal on his powers was breaking.

“You can’t use,” you said hoarsely, with as much conviction as you could muster.

Chase shook his head quickly, eyes clearing to their usual ice blue. “No. You can’t, (Y/N). I can’t- I’m not strong enough. I know I- I can’t,” he lamented. “Please don’t leave. Not now,” he pleaded.

You smiled sadly at him. You could only really see him at this point, but at least your last few moments would be filled with the stunning beauty that was Chase. “Don’t think... I have a choice here...” you whispered. Some of the words were hard to get out and sounded a little garbled; something- probably blood- was beginning to block your airways. If you had the strength your body would probably try to make you cough it out, but those automatic responses had already shut down.

At least it didn’t hurt.

“Please, Baby. Tell me how to save you. I love you, Honey. I can’t lose you,” he gasped, clutching you tightly against him.

You were thankful he pulled you close. You couldn’t see him anymore. You weren’t even sure if you managed to say, “I love you too, Chase.”

Because everything after that went black.

Two Weeks Ago Chase’s POV

Six years, two months, twenty-five days, seventeen hours, thirty-one minutes.

That was the amount of time that Chase had lost since that fateful showdown with Caleb all those years ago.

And now he was losing even more time to a damn Hedge Witch.

He needed his powers like he needed to breathe and now, almost three months after he’d been pulled out of the In Between by you, the burning, nauseating feeling of not being able to cast had reduced to a low thrum in every cell of his body. Still there, still painful, but not as sharp and all-consuming as it had been.

He sat up in bed a little less gracefully than he might have liked, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair with a heavy sigh. He half expected his feet to be tender with the pain from all the cuts he’d accrued yesterday but, as always, you’d healed all of his physical injuries before you went to sleep.

He always woke up well-rested from magic-induced slumber and you always woke up looking like shit from all the energy you used to heal him and fix your house every night. At first it was perhaps a bit petty that he hurt you in this way- the only way he could- but as time went on he found himself testing you, even though you had nothing to prove to him.

Every day he went down to the kitchen and began shattering your belongings before moving onto the living room, dining room, patio, hallway. Everything but the single room you still hadn’t let him so much as look in.

He watched you more closely than you probably realized. Not once since that first day had you raised your voice at him. In fact, the only time he saw any sort of real reaction from you at all was when he started moving towards that single secret room.

Chase wasn’t stupid. He knew it was your bedroom. Judging by the smell it was also where you prepped most of your little witchy spells and items.

He swapped out of yesterday's ratty, torn clothes and slipped into one of the seemingly endless pairs of sweats and well-fitting t-shirts. He threw the ruined clothes into a pile near the door, knowing that you’d find them wherever he hid them. What you did with them, he didn’t know. Maybe you repaired the damage to them like you did to the rest of your belongings. Chase didn’t look closely enough at the clothes to care.

He padded barefoot into the kitchen, staring balefully at all the pristine appliances. No matter what kind of damage he exacted on your house day in and day out, you managed to repair it all. Not a single scratch on the windows that he’d broken countless times. The lights on the oven all worked perfectly, displaying the correct time. The refrigerator hummed almost silently in the corner, although Chase knew he’d taken a crowbar to it at least ten different times and pried it apart until it was tiny pieces (you’d hidden the crowbar after he’d gotten particularly gleeful with it and gone after your Jeep).

As he walked past the counter he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and bit into it, ravenous from barely eating anything every day the last few months. His eyes spotted the jar of peanut butter sitting on the counter and snatched it and a spoon, digging a huge glob of peanut butter out to eat with the apple, nearly moaning at the taste of the simple meal. Why couldn’t he remember the last time he ate? He flicked his hand in the direction of the coffee machine to start preparing some coffee, only to freeze when nothing happened. The fridge hummed mockingly in the corner and a pipe gurgled softly, laughing merrily at him.

And like that, the relative calm feeling he’d woken up with shattered, throwing razor-sharp shards into his hazy, magic-deprived mind.

Before he knew it the kitchen was in ruins, food and broken appliances on every surface. The fridge was on its side, no longer thrumming its mocking hum throughout the room. The lights on the stove were blinking on and off as the wires tried their best to carry the electrical current and failed, as Chase had at some point taken some sort of sharp object close enough that they cut halfway through the cord. It was a bit of surprise he hadn’t started a fire. Maybe he had. You could have stopped the fire before it spread and he would have been too engrossed in his rampage to notice.

He turned to stare at you, knowing exactly where you’d be before he looked at you. You always stood in the same spot every morning while he destroyed your kitchen: The walkway between the couch and the wall, with the hallway to the bedrooms and bathrooms behind you. The living room window let in the bright morning light and always silhouetted you in the most stunning glow except for those rare mornings where it wasn’t sunny. On those days, he could easily see your face: the dark circles under your eyes, the sag to your shoulders than hadn’t been there the day he’d met you, your still-messy hair that you hadn’t bothered to brush because you came straight from your bedroom the moment you heard him breaking things to make sure he wasn’t doing anything too drastic.

I didn’t mean to, he wanted to say as he looked away from the vision that was you backed by the radiant glow from the sunrise. Of course, the words didn’t come. They never did. The shattered plates and glass on the floor offered no comfort.

Why are you helping me?

You should be angry.

Give me my powers back.

Why aren’t you yelling?

I don’t know why I snapped.

I’m going to ruin you.

What did I do? I don’t remember.

You always look so tired.

If you just gave me my powers back this wouldn’t be happening.

How long until you kick me out?

Will you turn me into the police?

Why don’t you ever say anything?

I forgot what your voice sounds like.

I know I liked it.

You’re being too kind.

I’m not worth this.

Please give me my powers back.

Those thoughts and hundreds like them bounced around in Chase’s head in his clearer moments.

Recently, though, he was conscious during his rampages, even if he sometimes couldn’t stop the rage that boiled to the surface.

Need my magic.

Need it like I need air to breathe.

Need it like a plant needs the sun.

I’m nothing without it.

Need it to live.

But he was living now, wasn’t he?

No, I’m surviving. Not living, the magic-addicted part of his mind would scream back at such a volume that it drowned out that new, tentative voice. She took your magic from you. She wants you powerless and useless. Weak. Deprived of your birthright.

His fist curled at his side and a second later he was driving it through the plaster of the wall. You didn’t flinch, of course. You had no reason to anymore. He couldn’t hurt you physically. Couldn’t even bring himself to talk to you, much less string together a coherent insult.

Not that you deserved it.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? The two sides of Chase’s mind were warring with each other and now he had to scramble to collect the tattered scraps to try and piece together something resembling sanity.

The longer the access to his magic was blocked, however, the harder that new, frightening side fought. Though all that meant now was that he had even more trouble thinking straight.

So Chase kept destroying, always watching you and your impassive, resigned face. Looking for any chink in that armor. Any sign of change or a glimmer of insight into what you were thinking.

Chase had to stop himself from staring.

God, but you’re beautiful. Cunning and resourceful as hell, too.

He gritted his teeth as his mind heaved and shook so hard with the thought that he almost wanted to puke.

This time, when he marched past you into the living room and began throwing everything in every direction, he watched you closely. Even as a vase sailed within a foot/half meter of your face you didn’t flinch.

No matter what he did, you didn’t react, merely watching him with those indifferent, cold eyes. Not a single spark of emotion flickered across those irises and it made Chase want to scream.

He didn’t know how many hours had passed since he’d woken up and started his rampage, but he finally did the one thing he knew would get a reaction out of you:

He walked straight over to your bedroom door and reached for the handle, turning his head at the last second to witness the tortured look on your face as you hurtled the deep blue sleeping crystal through the air at him.

There. Emotion. A reaction. That spark in your eyes that he hadn’t seen in almost three months. The light that he’d snuffed out due to his actions every day.

The moment before the crystal hit lasted for a small eternity as Chase stared into your eyes, drinking in the stubborn set of your jaw, the flash of anger and frustration, then the brief glimpse of sadness.

Chase’s heart twisted with regret and shame.

And then he fell asleep.

Next Chapter

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Picture Perfect - Chapter 8 (also on 9L)  (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)(Chapter 4) (Chapter 5&6) (Chapter 7)

Carol believed what he said; the desire in his eyes, the predatory stature of his body, and the heat in his tone all told her he meant business. But she knew too many downed drinks prevented him from stalking towards her and finding a solitary place to pleasure them both.

Without breaking his gaze, she set the flowers and the grapes on the table and took a small step back from him, her hand trailing along the table’s edge to guide her. “Come and get it,” she taunted.

He put the doll by the flowers, moving toward her slowly. Each step felt like walking through molasses, but he held on to the table, matching each of her backward steps with a forward one of his own.

“Still wanna play, huh?” he queried, amused with and wildly aroused by her seduction games.

He’d love her for so long, and watching her thrive made his heart bloom in his chest, causing a physical ache. She had hands like silk, smoldering bedroom eyes, searing kisses, and a lithe body made as his match, all which made loving her that much more erotic. But watching Carol flirt without reservation, with confidence and surety, owning her sexuality like an experienced vixen pursuing her prey made his head swim. She’d teased him before in the confines of their room, but this…brazen seductress retreating from him had stoked the fire to a raging inferno.

“Oh, yeah,” she breathed, still moving away from him.

He paused as she rounded the end of the table, watching her until she stood opposite him, the wide table, heavy with fruit, between them.

What was the saying…the closest distance between two points is a straight line?

To hell with it, he thought, then haphazardly shoved the food trays out of his way and hiked a knee up onto the table, praying it would hold.

“Daryl!”

Carol’s gasp reached his brain, and he saw her snatch a candelabra up from the end of the table near his head, flames licking close to his hair.

For a moment he felt airborne, like he’d jumped from a plane he didn’t know he was on. But then he leaned forward and his hands and knees made contact with the table and the world stopped spinning long enough for him to peer up at Carol’s startled but bemused face.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Shortcut to get to ya,” he managed to say before dropping his head for a moment to try to right the world.

“You know you don’t have to set yourself on fire to make me think you’re hot, right?”

“Wasn’t sure,” he quipped.

“Now that you are, you still comin’ for me?”

Damn, Carol did double entendres better than anyone he’d ever met. He wracked his brain for a witty comeback, but the organ didn’t seem to want to work.

“Maybe just...” He pushed more platters out of his way. “…give me a few minutes.” He dropped to his side and propped himself up with one arm, reaching for her free hand with the other. He looked at her, draped in shimmering royal blue, like a goddess come to life.

“World stops spinnin’ whena look at you,” he murmured.

She smiled, humoring his drunken stupor, but he couldn’t stop staring at her.

He’d seen her at her worst, bloody, covered in viscera, sweaty, unshowered for weeks and wearing clothes that didn’t fit. After the loss of children and homes, starving and sick, in heartache and self-hatred, cold, exhausted, and grouchy. And still he’d loved her so easily it confounded him, this woman who’d made him feel, for the first time in his life, like a man. Like a person. Who, despite his history, personality flaws, and the legacy of the Dixon name, had chosen him at the end of the world to share all of her final days with. Despite their lack of hygiene over the years, he’d always found her stunning: from her sparkling baby blues and the gentleness and strength of her hands to the way her mind strategized and how passionately she loved those she called family.

He only belonged to that family because of her, because she’d seen so much more in him than anyone ever had.

He owed her his life.

“Don’t just mean ‘cause I drank too much,” he confessed, his words slow. “I mean...all the time. I never lived so close ta so many people til everything happened. Didn’t know how. Didn’t even know who I was. World felt outta control Before, but…once it all happened, when Merle was gone an’…I was just spinnin’ my wheels, you made things make sense. Gave me a purpose. And friendship. Don’t know where I’d be withoutchoo.”

Drunk words are sober thoughts, she’d once read.

Her throat, thick with unshed tears, swelled, and she tried to swallow past the burgeoning emotion. So much time had passed, so many things had occurred, that they didn’t much talk of the Before any more, but the gratefulness, the tenderness of his tone caused a sweet ache in her chest.  

Who’d have thought Daryl Dixon, the motorcycle-riding, crossbow-wielding, rough and dirty, don’t-touch-me redneck could spout words to rival one of the rom-coms she used to watch as a silly girl, praying for someone who could love her?

Blinking away tears, she leaned toward him and gave him a chaste kiss, all at once feeling a little guilty at having made him come to a party he had to get drunk at to have fun.  

“Maybe sober. In bed.”

He snorted. “Passed out in the floor sounds more like me.”

“In the floor, huh?” She chuckled. “Then it’s good for both of us that I’m here.”

“Why you?”

“Because I’m not alone: in this world, at home, or at this party. I never knew what that was like til you.”

Though his eyes burned with fatigue, he stared at her, this woman who’d endured so much to stand before him tonight with fire in her hands and her eyes and her heart. “You’re stunning.”

“And you’re drunk.”

“But not blind. And not alone either. But as soon as I can get up, I’m takin’ you home so we can be alone together.”

“Yeah, I can see why you’d have a hard time getting it up right now,” she teased, treasuring the heavy moment that had passed between them in her heart, even as it drifted away.

“That’s what you think.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” she protested, holding the candelabra away from him and placing a hand against his chest as he started to get up to prove her wrong. “Stay put, Romeo. Give it a few minutes.”

“Been givin’ it a few minutes all night. You been tauntin’ and teasin’ and—”

“And you love it,” she countered confidently. “And you’re not going anywhere for a bit, so you might as well stay there and enjoy it.”

“Yes, your majesty,” he sassed.

She quirked an eyebrow, trying to hide a smile, then turned and leaned back against the table.

Only a handful of couples remained, and most of them seemed more drunk than Daryl. Someone—Carol couldn’t remember who, now—had suggested they hold on to their newly acquired stock of alcohol, but most everyone else had argued against it, knowing any day could be their last. Saving the best for later didn’t exist anymore since the best was whatever they had at moment and no one could promise them tomorrow.

Gratitude filled her at the joy she’d experienced this evening. Watching her friends smile and laugh, the women dressing up like in the good old days of Before, giving them a boost of confidence, watching Daryl let his inhibitions go and trust her to take care of him, seeing herself fancied up in a way she never had, letting the hungry vixen in her have free reign instead of caging her in shame and embarrassment. It felt dangerous and fun, and the fact that Daryl responded so easily—to her touches and teases, her double entendres and innuendos—she wondered why she’d never allowed this side of her out to play before.

That would have to change.

Daryl’s hand, hot against her even through her dress, trailed down her back and rested on the curve of her butt. “’Cha thinkin’bout?”

She peered at him over her shoulder, smiling. “Tonight. You, me, us.”

“Good, huh?” he leered at her, sliding his hand back and forth along her lower back. “But gonna get better.”

“We still gotta get you home.”

“You still gotta dance for me.”

She turned away from him, hiding a smile. Holding the candelabra up and focusing on the candle light, she wriggled her hips playfully, fire before her, the intensity of his gaze behind her. But without a partner, bopping to the music fell flat, and she stopped after a couple of seconds.

“That’s it?” he asked, incredulous.

“Did I promise more?”

“More or less.” He reached for something on the table behind her, then produced an unopened bottle of champagne. “Guess someone lost this. Pity.” He held it up to her. “Liquid courage?”

Her head didn’t feel like cotton anymore, but it still buzzed. “Think I’ve had enough.”

“Let’s see it then,” he encouraged with a nod.

“See what?” she asked innocently.

He mock-glared at her. “Your moves.”

“Been showing you my moves all night. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

Her faux exasperation tickled him, but he wanted dancing. “Oh, I been payin’ attention,” he confirmed. “Slidin’ your hands all over me where no one can see, under tables and durin’ pictures—”

“Which I want to see, by the way,” she interjected as though they talked of the weather.

“Kissin’ and teasin and pressin’ up against me all soft and hot. Playin’ innocent in front’a everyone and wildcat in my ear, whisperin’ and makin’ me so hot I’m ready to beg.”

Her cheeks flamed as he recounted the temptress she’d played tonight, his voice dropping lower and sending an aching need thrumming through her body.

“Seductive and sexy and makin’ me so bothered I’m gonna use my mouth to—”

“Shhhh,” she interrupted again, this time pressing a finger to his lips.

He noted the red tinge of her cheeks, her embarrassment evident, and his heart fell that he’d unintentionally caused her shame when he’d only meant to compliment her.

He flicked his tongue out against her finger, and her eyes snapped to his. He moved his head, enveloping the tip of her finger with his mouth and sucking lightly as she withdrew it.

“Sexy as hell. Don’t stop,” he entreated. “Never seen you like this, and I don’t want it to end.”

Even if it was the longest session of foreplay he’d ever indulged in.

Carol swallowed hard, determined to hold on to the confidence, the power she’d felt all night.

“I’ll just…” He looked down at the fruit surrounding him and picked up a peach. “…watch you ‘n keep my mouth shut.” He held the peach to his lips, nibbling at it slowly as he caressed her with his eyes.

Carol set the candelabra far away from him, grabbed the champagne bottle out of his hand, twisted the wire cage, and popped the lid off. Holding his gaze, she took a slow pull from the bottle, then another, and handed it back to him.

She stared at him for a moment, letting the sparkling drink wash through her, the music pulse in her veins, the beat take over her body. Then she closed her eyes, imagined he stood with her, and moved her body, undulated her hips, shimmied her shoulders, let her body flow with the sounds around her and the feelings he evoked in her and the daring notion that he lay just behind her, splayed out like so much tempting fruit, as she danced just for him.