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empress-ghoul · 1 day ago

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Rising Waters, part seven

141 x witch!reader | old gods of appalachia au cw: supernatural elements, blood, vomiting, gun violence

Liars too, then. It didn’t surprise you, per se, but it was still incredibly unsettling. For how brief an incursion, it revealed more than you could have expected.

You stared into the cabin for what felt like hours before the sound of the four men filing in behind you drew you back. The wards were still thrumming, though fainter now as the swarm fled deeper through the trees and back into the mountain.

“You alright, love?” Gaz asked.

When you looked into his eyes, it came to you. The rest when you glanced around at the others. Perhaps it was the iron that had been keeping your gift down, or maybe something had taken its place.

“Kyle Garrick, John Price, John MacTavish, and Simon Riley,” you stated.

Silence. It was like you had stepped on a trip mine and everyone else was too scared to move, as if any motion at all would set it off. Or like predators moving slowly so as to not startle their prey. They all wanted a piece, after all.

“Not as much power in a name as y’all think.” You sighed. “And y’all really don’t think, do ya?”

“Careful,” Price— John warned.

How irksome that his voice still had the ability to make you want to shiver and cower. It shouldn’t. The knowledge that he can’t really hurt you should supersede that. What made it even worse, was that John knew it too.

Simon tightened his grip on the rifle — the one that blew up the thing inhabiting Phillip Graves’ body — and the tension rose exponentially. Your gaze shifted slowly over to him, staring deep into those hateful eyes.

“You gonna kill me, Simon?” you taunted. “You really wanna try?”

He didn’t even seem to notice the blood trickling from his eyes. There was no flinch or a shiver to indicate he even felt anything. You kept your gaze fixed there on him, deep in his eyes. Something beyond that hate was buried in Simon, a source to pull it all from. The root— the nerve ending to expose and rip apart—

Had Soap not jumped in the way, a calloused hand wrapped around your jaw and squeezing your cheeks.

“Dinnae want to do tha’, bonnie,” he warned, pressing you back until your head knocked against the wall. “No sense in hurtin’ yer pretty head.”

He had the same anger Simon had, but with a different pain behind it. You could almost feel the pressure in your skull. A bullet going through — bone, brain, bone — and being pulled out again by the forces that be. Blood flooding his world until all his comrades could do was let it drag them down with him.

Like a piece falling right into place.

You stared back, nails like blades digging into his arm, eyes wide in waiting. “C’mon, Johnny,” you murmured. “You’re a good guard dog, ain’t you?”

It held for another beat before he shuddered and black bile sprayed out of his mouth, with the full desire of snapping your neck holding him down. The vile mess splattered over your face, but was the moment you needed to shove him off. He spit up some more at your feet as he stumbled back, darkness dripping from his lips like oil. Putrefaction, to be sure.

While Simon stepped forward to help Johnny, Kyle watched you with twitching hands. Blood boiled under his skin and out of his ears, the desire to tear your throat out itching at him. You understood the feeling.

Johnny’s rot was now staining your skin, painting you like an ugly picture of the inner dark. Unclean, spoiled, a poor reflection that you felt too, deep down.

John stepped in between you and his more volatile comrade. His hands felt heavy on your shoulders as he guided you to the washroom, away from the chaos that very nearly ensued. He was saying something, grumbling in your ear about making a fuss over nothing and getting the lads all riled up. You couldn’t find it in you to listen, but you did hate how nonchalant he was. It was like he saw it all as nothing more than a misunderstanding and you were a silly little girl who needed to calm down.

Once in the bathroom, John began wiping your face clean. He cupped your jaw and ran a damp rag over your cheeks and mouth with calm, gentle strokes to make sure the evidence of Johnny’s corruption was gone.

You hadn’t used your gift on him yet. Part of you was scared of what you might see. Perhaps it would be a trail of bodies spread across the mountains, or maybe something worse. Maybe whole towns wiped out and unionizers and sympathizers taken care of. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

“That’s better,” he sighed, wiping the last of it off. “There’s that pretty face.”

He enjoyed this. His hand lingered on your chin far too long for him not to. Skin to skin, keeping too close, always with that entertained gleam in his eyes. He even patted your hip when he finished, as if to say good dog.

You thought about repeating what you had said outside – Phillip Graves didn’t know me – but held your tongue. No sense in making them more wary. Even less sense in giving John a reason to keep his current proximity to you, trapped between his legs as he leaned against the sink.

“I think I need to lay down,” you declared. “I’m…shaken from what happened.”

John hummed, draping the rag over the side of the basin before looking back down at you. “It’ll wear off. Why don’t you start on some laundry? Get your mind off of things.”

As infuriating as it was, the repetition of the task and lack of irons grating on your wrists made for a great opportunity to plot how you would get rid of them. Each bloody shirt further solidified your need to kill them. You clearly weren’t in any danger from Shepherd & Graves – you wondered if it would just be Shepherd now – and these men had lied to you the second you woke up. The hemlock plants all around the property seemed to be your best bet. Or the gun.

On the opposite side of the house, you could hear the door creak against its hinges as it was opened. You could smell the cigar smoke, now with something else mixed in – cigarettes.

While you couldn’t exactly hear John and Simon’s low voices, the ache in your chest gave you the feeling that it was about you. Unfortunately, your attempt to move closer to the edge of the house was thwarted when Johnny walked out and leaned against the wall to watch you.

“Apologies for spittin’ up on ye, bonnie,” he sighed. He sounded genuine, but so dramatic at the same time. “Haven’t been meself in a while and the little jars you made don’t help much.”

Little jars. He even laughed at his own joke, as if the wards that saved all of you were just that. Little jars.

“It’s fine.” Your voice came out softer than you intended. “At least you’re feeling better.”

Johnny hummed noncommittally. He walked away and you realized he was hanging up the clean shirts on the line for you. It was a task he seemed familiar with, so you hoped this wasn’t the first round of laundry done since they’ve been here. While it wouldn’t surprise you, it would disappoint you.

“Have y’all done laundry since you been here?”

You didn’t intend to let the words slip out but it was too late. Johnny didn’t seem to mind, though, and actually threw his head back as he laughed. A real, genuine laugh, not some condescending huff or chuckle, but true laughter. Paired with his crooked smile, you felt some sense of ease. It nearly made you blush.

“You wound me, bonnie,” he teased, placing a dramatic hand on his heart. “‘Course we’ve done laundry. You take us for cavemen?”

“Some of us have done the laundry,” Kyle corrected, peeking his head out the back door and apparently having been listening to the conversation.

Johnny, for his part, looked completely indignant. “What does it look like I’m doin’ now?”

A smile tugged at your lips. Their casualness, despite the scene inside just a while ago and the horror lurking inside of them, was refreshing.

“Don’t let him fool you, love.” He sat next to you while shaking his head playfully at Johnny. “There’s a reason he and Simon stay on hunting duty.”

The mood curdled and soured at the mention of hunting. You could still hear the sounds of them tearing that body apart. Deer or not, they had done it with practiced ease.

Both of them sensed your wariness as you took the clean items and began pinning them up. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Johnny shift closer to Kyle. You kept working as they dropped their voices just loud enough for you to hear, but believing to be quiet enough to keep you oblivious.

“Price wants to do it soon,” Kyle whispered.

“We should do it soon,” Johnny replied.

The drum in your chest was beating so fast you thought it might burst out. They were certainly talking about you now, likely about the conversation John had been having with Simon on the front porch. You didn’t know what ‘it’ was and you truly didn’t care to find out.

You hoped the meat John fed you for supper was venison. He even let you sit at the table while they all talked, if not to distract from the fact that none of them were eating. It was so off kilter, the painful resonance vibrating in your ears to let you know that this was wrong. You really did not need your gift to know that.

Everything tasted like ash on your tongue after you noticed Simon repeatedly wiping the blood from his nose. Getting your food to settle was an arduous task but you didn’t want to know what might happen should you reject it. They were all still talking but you tuned it out, too focused on chewing, swallowing, breathing until the plate was empty. Four sets of eyes landed on you when you hurried from the kitchen to escape the oppressive energy, your empty plate abandoned.

Sleep evaded you. It toyed at the edges of your mind, taunting your frayed edges cruelly. Not even you were sure if you wanted to sleep. Perhaps you wanted to be awake if they came in the night to do whatever the hell they were whispering about.

What were you doing anyways? Doing their laundry, eating at the table with them. Now lying in your bed like an idiot, waiting for something to happen? A sitting duck if you’ve ever seen one.

But you sat for another few minutes, working up the courage to finally get up. Courage that died when you opened the door and saw John asleep on the couch. A true leader, letting his men take the beds while he kept watch. He had even angled it to watch your door. What good that was doing.

You hadn’t even felt yourself moving, but suddenly you were standing in the living room with the cold metal of the rifle weighing heavy in your hands. It made far more noise in your shaking palms than it had in Simon’s steady ones just a few hours early. He had more of a penchant for killing than you did. But you didn’t want to kill, did you?

The gun nearly flew from your grip when you realized John was standing. He didn’t look scared or angry. It was still that same aloof, slightly condescending gaze. He was the only one who would be tempered enough to keep his desire tucked beneath the need to get the gun away from you.

“Let’s put this down, love,” he encouraged. His hand wrapped around the barrel so carefully that it might have been a living thing. He certainly treated it with the gentleness one might give a frightened animal. “Don’t want to hurt anyone, do you?”

“Don’t I?”

You’d hunted a few times before, right before the weather got hard, and it was not much more than pointing and shooting. Except that had been a rabbit with a much smaller caliber gun. This one might just blow your shoulder from its socket.

John kept his grip on the barrel, blue eyes burning into you, past the muzzle, with an intensity that rivaled Kyle’s stare. Except you couldn’t find anything behind John’s. It was staring into the void, unable to do anything but fall deeper in hopes of being able to catch onto something. You kept falling, falling, falling, with no hope for clawing back up.

“Wouldn’t do you any good,” he claimed.

Something moved through you.

The gunshot that exploded in your ears dragged you out of the pit. Its splintering cry muffled the thud of John’s fall and his furious cursing. You dropped the rifle and flew out the front door when you saw the black blood rushing down his neck.

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kismetlotts · 1 month ago

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cw: money kink? Simon is obsessed, Simon loves you spending his money and giving you money, strangers online, mentions of male masturbation, mentions of oral sex, reader streams and goes live a lot, mentions of poor financial situation, Simon yearns, controlling, reader starts an OnlyFans, jealous Simon Riley, mentions of the name 'Daddy'

Simon Riley who barley uses social media and doesn't understand it well. He supposes he’s never really had a proper reason to. Sometimes he would check up on his teammates private lives, see how they are doing when they are away and off duty; sometimes he could be caught watching the odd dog meme video that pops up- earning a small, slither of a smile from the scarred stoic man.

But honestly, he’s never had a reason to bother, no account profile picture or bio and a randomly generated username he wouldn't know how to change even if he wanted to. Most of the time he would have two or three followers and always one of them was someone he had no idea of.

He never had a reason to give a shit about the online world, not until he saw you.

Sat at your desk, eyes sparkling under your warm ceiling light. Eagerly reading the chat-box at the bottom of your stream as you answered peoples questions with genuine interest. Your smile made his chest burn hot and his eyes caught notice of your fingers fidgeting with your hair. You were stunning, absolutely fucking breathtaking and Simon couldn't get enough; he needed you.

He would join every single live, not messaging or saying anything to you but just watching and suffocating in silence. He wouldn't miss the way you licked your lips wet and chewed on your lower lip as you waited for more people to join. If it wasn't for his expertise in self control he would've been fisting his cock to the sight of you.

He would have you full blast on his phone as he pottered around his house, your angelic voice singing out words of ecstasy through the cold empty walls like you were there with him. His precious little sweetheart, living with him in his head and in his home. Who would've thought a stranger like you could mess someone like Simon up this fucking badly?

He learnt things about you, jotting them down in the notebook of his brain. Learnt the places you wanted to travel to and experiences you wanted to live- and found himself wanting to be beside you: witnessing it first hand. He found himself for the first time in years wanting to live and not just survive.

Despite his toll of silence, you didn't miss the way he was always there. Checking the viewer count to see his account right at the top as per usual. Time didn't seem to matter either, when you had woken up at early in the morning and decided to go live out of boredom- he was there. In the middle of the day when you were on your lunch break, ragged looking earphones trailing out your ear as you whispered into the microphone at the back of the café, he was there watching. He was always there and it felt strange.

In honesty, his consistency petrified you. You knew it was all in your head but the nagging feeling that it was one of your fucked up, clingy exes, still keeping tabs on you despite going your separate ways, made you sick. Hoping was all you could ever do because you wouldn't dream of confronting the mysterious account that was watching, lingering and following you every second your phone was powered on. It was highly unlikely to be anyone you knew and you weren't entirely sure if that was for better or worse.

When your first couple of donations rolled in, you didn't know what to say. Smiling and thanking the donators by name as your cheeks heated up.

You never asked for money or pleaded for donations; the option was always there if people wanted to. You certainly weren't going to beg or come across as a 'money hungry' but some extra cash on the side was definitely not a bad idea. The fact that people were so generous and kind to donating pennies and pieces to help reach the goal of buying your own place. It wasn't much people were sending in but every little help strangers would accompany you with, made you realise the world wasn't so selfish after all: and when Simon noticed this. He reached for his card.

Hundreds, multiple hundreds and it was just a ridiculous amount of money that piled in from his account. It was the first time you had seen him interact with you aside from liking your content or watching your streams- what the fuck were you supposed to say? Your eyes would lock onto the screen, mouth slightly agape revealing your wet tongue as you tried to find the words. Simon fucking groaned.

The blank, grey profile picture looked back at you with numbers you couldn't comprehend attached to it. Simon was helping you tremendously and despite your gratefulness you couldn't help but end your stream- guilt surfacing in your throat because that was a lot of money to be handing away to a stranger. It felt rude taking it, you were scared to take it- it felt like borrowed money not gifted money because who sends someone that amount of cash. Who in their right fucking mind?

The worst part was he didn't stop there- in honesty, watching how fogged your mind got and watching the way you struggled for words- he couldn't find himself able to stop. It was a high for him, he wanted to give you everything you wanted.

He would crack his neck, a moan falling from his lips as he clicked on your live with a grin. Adrenaline fuelling his body as he sent more, and more, and more until he heard the shake in your voice. 'Stop' falling from your lips between nervous giggles and he knew you meant it, feeling his heart ricochet in his chest but still, he continued.

The mental aspect of the situation had led you to taking a short break off of streaming, you were sure he wasn't some crazy ex from the amount of money he had given you and the realisation it was some random stranger always being there instead, didn't make you as uncomfortable as you thought it would've. He was probably some old man with a fetish for seeing some girl like you everyday and spoiling you. The worst case scenario was that he could be a stalker or a murderer who had taken a liking into you- but even then you were highly careful of what you let slip online and who could be out there.

It was difficult, you wanted him to leave as much as you wanted him to stay- you couldn't block him after he had spent all that money on you and as much as you wished he wouldn’t have done that: it was very helpful.

A good few weeks had past since you had uploaded and you figured that he would be onto some other girl by now. Splashing the cash for some supermodel look alike as he whispers into her microphone things that drive men wild. But of course that wasn't the case.

Simon was going fucking haywire. He couldn't sleep without hearing your muffled little voice in his dreams, your sleeping little face and messed up hair with your tantalisingly lowcut pyjamas, where were you? Where had you disappeared to? He would check your account religiously, just in case you posted and his notification didn't go off. He had googled ways to tell if he had been blocked- but the reality of the situation was that you had just became inactive.

It made his lungs ache and knees weak without hearing your voice daily- just old videos he had re-watched over and over again. Your absence worried him and it worried himself with how badly he was getting attached to you. His days felt like months, his strong demeanour replaced by one that was moping and mourning. Jesus- you weren't fucking dead. If you were fucking dead he would ruin whatever stole you from him. Was this stalker like behaviour? Was he being a fucking loser for worrying about you?

Upon your return you had decided to create a dreaded OnlyFans account. It was just to raise money and you weren't expecting to blow up into some massive porn star earing millions from sex work- you kept it pretty downlow. It was as much humiliating as it was necessary- without Simon there to send you hundreds of pounds, you needed the extra pay for groceries and rent money. Plus- it seemed everyone your age was doing it so what was the harm? You uploaded a quick video to promote your new account, posted it and sat down at your one seat table.

The cold of the wooden chair hitting your thighs and the dim lights of your kitchen made you realise how tiny your apartment was. Even for one person you felt like you were incarcerated- stuck in a prison cell but you couldn't afford to leave yet. The sound of your swallow echoing into the silence as you finished up your instant ramen- humming in satisfaction as your phone hummed to. You picked it up, your stomach turning cold as a message request came through.

How much to delete your OnlyFans Account?

Simon was fucking seething. Posting your tits- your body, that little mouth of yours sucking on objects that weren't his cock for other men to see? For other men to pay for? He almost cracked his phone when he opened your notification to that and he would've if it wasn't for his urgency to get you to delete your account. He had heard of OnlyFans, he wasn't daft and you were coming off there whether you liked it or not.

Your heart stuttered seeing the familiar account and a scoff of shock fell from your lips. He hadn't forgotten you after all. The mysterious account had finally broke his silence and your stomach fluttered with feeling you couldn't make sense of. He hadn't moved on from you, he couldn't move on from you- should you be weirded out by this?

Sorry?

How much to delete your OnlyFans Account. Now?

The pulse in your vein throbbed as you finally made sense of his question. The giddy feeling from earlier at the realisation he was waiting for you, subsided into thick strings of anxiety. Hypothetically, if you had run your account on there for a good few months, posting regularly and having a handful of subscribers- you would bring home a good portion of money to save up. You couldn't ask him for a lot of money- especially after all the money he had already gave but you couldn't delete your account for little to nothing. So, you took the time to nicely write back to him and explain your financial situation to him. Explaining how you need to money to help save for a future house- that you need food and necessities and that your shitty job doesn't pay you enough.

The chat fell silent, Simon began to type and then stopped- disappearing and you shut your phone off worried you had either overshared and accidently unloaded everything onto him or upset him.

I mean- you didn't owe him anything- he donated all that money to you on his behalf but you couldn't help the niggling feeling of regret and shame that you had offended someone so nice that had done so much for you. You told yourself that he was still probably some creep, some fucked up pervert that probably only watched for one thing. But if that was the case, why would he be against your OnlyFans? Maybe you read him wrong- or maybe he wanted you all for himself.

You felt your phone ping again, opening the chat to a payment of multiple thousands.

This your spending money for food and whatever else you want. And I can buy you a house darling, don't you worry.

The high numbers full your screen and you blinked. Your head unable to comprehend if this was real or not. A whole house? Spending money? Was this guy fucking rich? He obviously had money to give away willingly so there was no doubt he was rich. But still though, did he not have a family to spend this money on- or anything better to do with it? Without properly thinking you typed back your response, sitting back on your chair as your eyes darted around your small apartment. Was he deadly serious about buying you a house?- Who were you kidding, of course he was serious.

Are you a sugar daddy or something?

Simons concrete façade broke as he snorted, reading your message. Imagining your sweet, pretty, intoxicating voice reading it out to him while he melts and loses himself in you. He should just send you his card and bank details- he should just send you all of his fucking money and spoil you absolutely rotten. He would give you anything you wanted- he would let you walk all over him and drain his fucking account. The thought of you all dolled up, new shoes, new clothes, new perfume. The thought of you comfortable, clean and fed- fuck he had never felt this horny and desperate before. He fisted his cock through his jeans as he sat up on his couch, stretching and adjusting a little before looking back down at the message. Fingers typing back a reply before plopping his phone down beside him.

Not a sugar daddy, I just like your smile, Sunshine.

But if you really wanted to call me daddy, I wouldn't be opposed to the idea.

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