#tiny gore under cut

[taintandviolent]

Thrill of the Rush ; James March x reader

summary: Reader is a murderer, coquettish and demure in nature. She brings a man to the Hotel Cortez, and it ends how it always ends for them. The only difference, is that James March is watching her and is enamoured.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 2.6k! | serial killer!reader, graphic descriptions of murder, violence, blood and gore, descriptions of smut, cunnilingus, arousal, kissing/making out.

a/n: requested by anonymous and inspired by Lana Del Rey's Serial Killer song! hopefully this isn't too clunky, or boring in anyway! proofread very briefly, if you see any mistakes, no you didn't.

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don't have a taglist, but please turn on post notifications if you'd like to be notified of future fics!

Elvis’s voice drifted from your speaker. The hotel room was cool, a stark contrast to the hot LA summer outside. The room itself was outdated in decor and architecture, something that you found charming – you’d chosen it specifically for its gorgeous, untouched art deco style. Stephen protested, saying it was rundown and dingy. You shushed him with a single manicured finger and led him inside, heading straight for the hotel desk. 

He was a man. A stupid, hungry man who could only think with one head at a time. So, it didn’t take much for you to get up to the hotel room, and onto the bed. You’d let the strap of your dress fall off your creamy soft shoulder, coaxing him closer to you.

He nuzzled his lips into your breast, tugging softly at the skin. He muttered something into your skin, something grotesque, and you didn’t hear him. You were too busy listening to the thud of your own heartbeat – your own excited little heartbeat. You reached into your purse, which had been laying next to you, to retrieve the knife. It was a beautiful thing; pink pearlescent inlay on the handle, and a long, shimmery silver blade. 

Raising it high above his head, your elegant fingers gripped the rosy hilt of your knife, and using all your strength, stabbed it into the side of the man's neck. The blade sliced through his skin like butter, giving no resistance. There was nothing like the sensation of killing – it never failed in making your eyes glisten, a cruel fire burning bright within them. Your chest fluttered with excited little breaths, rushing out over your pouting, pink lips in tiny gusts. The thrill, the rush, it was unlike anything you’d ever experienced – even sex. No man had ever made you feel the way killing him did. You twisted the knife slightly. 

In response, he gurgled; a delightful sound that had you giggling. You had angled the knife just right, plunging it deep before yanking it out quickly. The blood spurted out in a warm geyser over your hand, trailing down your wrist in crimson ribbons. His hand flew to his neck, pitifully trying to stop the flowing river. You slapped his hand away softly. 

"Pl-please..." He murmured, as his body started to droop away from yours. 

You bent over, kissing the man on the forehead. As darling as you had been before, maybe even more so then. “Oh, baby…” you whispered, cloyingly sweet and soft like a summer day. He knew that he was going to die, and the begging was futile. Still, he persisted, wet and coughing between each plea. 

You pushed him off of your breast, and more blood squirted out, the arteries pumping it out with each beat of his heart. James' dark pupils widened, watching as you worked. He hadn’t made himself known yet, and wouldn’t until you were finished. Nothing should interrupt this delicious display of cruelty. 

“Tell me you love me,” you whispered. “Tell me I’m the sweetest girl you’ve ever seen.” He didn’t. He didn’t say anything else… and he never would again. 

“Hmph.” Frustrated, you got off the bed, and smoothed your hands over your hips; the satin of your slip dress was warm and soft and provided no friction. 

"Seems you've got yourself between a rock and hard place, my dear." 

You spun around. In front of you stood a dashing man, dressed to the nines and resting some of his weight on a cane. He was handsome, but possessed a coldness that drew you in. He wasn't like the others.

"How did you get in here?!" 

"The door was..." He turned to look at it, casually. "Open." 

"No..." You shook your head, soft curls bouncing. Your tone was coy, knowing. "No, it wasn't." 

"Ah," he said, tightening his lips into a sly smile. Had his heart been beating, it would’ve quickened at your darling little response. You were quick; a trait that he enjoyed and very rarely saw.

"He deserved it, you know." You looked at the man on the bed with a disproving sourness in your gaze. His body had slumped over the side of the mattress, blood streamed from the gash in his neck to his hairline, staining it red. 

"I don't doubt that." He inhaled, stepping further into your room. "However... The problem remains of what to do with him. I presume you’ve yet to figure that out." His voice had your knees weak, turning the tendons to jell-o every time he spoke. It was so deep and croony, like molasses if it had a voice. 

"No," you trilled. "No, but you seem like you do." 

"I do," he started. There you went with your quick-witted confidence again. "You see, I have built this hotel to satisfy... my every need and whim, whatever they may be. I have a way to dispose of him for you." 

Your hand lifted to your shoulder, your finger winding a lock of hair around it. You pursed your lips, as though you were considering his offer. The truth was, you’d already made up your mind. He was dangerous, unafraid, but interested in you. A refreshing change from the rest of the men that you courted and ultimately killed. Besides, he was right. You had a corpse in the room and were unsure what to do with it, besides leaving it and requesting another room, claiming something trivial like the hot water not working. 

"Why are you doing this?" You ask, running your tongue along the bottom of your teeth, before coming to rest in the corner of your mouth. "You don't even know me." 

"I don't, my little buttercup, this is fact, but what I do know of you, I crave." 

Your knees wobbled. Somehow, he’d captivated you. You were never taken by men; they were useless, dumb playthings that you disposed of as soon as you got bored with them. You were never the one that was wrapped around a finger, it was always the other way around. But something… something about this man and the sick, nasty glimmer in his pitch-black eyes had you shivering.

“James March,” he declared proudly, before offering his hand. You placed your own atop his palm, and he leaned down, pressing his lips softly against your knuckles. Your lips tensed, withholding a whimper. 

All at once, he closed in the distance between the two of you. Exactly what you wanted him to do, and without asking. You gasped, looking up into his soulless gaze. “Hold me,” you whispered. “Please.” 

With a single nod, he enclosed you in a frighteningly firm grasp. You weren’t going anywhere – not that you wanted to. 

“I don’t know what you do… or what you’ve done…” you whispered, feeling light in his arms. He held you like old movie stars held their beloved; arms wrapped passionately around the waist, holding you tight at the hip. James waited, on bated breath, for you to finish your sentence. Instead, you stood on your tiptoes, and pressed your soft lips against his. They were cool, and immediately surrendered to yours, parting to exhale into your mouth. As his breath filled your lungs, you succumbed to every feeling he was pulling from you; your legs quivered and pressed together tightly. Your core tightened, and your cunt clenched with arousal. Slick leaked into the silk of your underwear, staining the fabric with your submissiveness.

His head tilted, allowing him to go deeper inside your mouth. His tongue slipped along yours, twirling and exploring the soft, slippery flesh of your mouth. Without breaking the kiss, James walked you backwards, guiding you towards the bed. His shin knocked into the corpse’s head, which lolled lifelessly.

You were at his mercy, and gasping for air, broke the kiss to look down at your feet. Stephen’s eyes were glazed over now, void of life. He had paled, the crimson stark against his bloodless skin. A puddle had settled beneath his head, seeping into the carpet. You broke away from James and bent down, shoving all your weight down on Stephen's shoulders. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in, so he rolled over easily, towards the edge of the bed, which freed up most of the bed for whatever came next. 

You immediately snuggled yourself back into James’ arms, nestling against his chest. “There… all better.” 

He hmm’ed at the crown of your head, holding you tight. His hips ground against yours, a stiffness pressing into your hip bone. A reminder – he was a man. But not akin to the other men… he was different. You looked up, gazing into his eyes. 

James guided you backwards onto the bed, your ass hitting the mattress with a squeak of protest from the old springs. Placing one hand on either side of your hips, he kissed you again, urging you back further yet. He was intoxicating. Everything he did had you quivering like a lamb in the jaws of a wolf – and you wanted more of it. More of everything. You wanted him. 

“I love you just a little too much,” you cooed, brushing your lips over his neck. The satin of his ascot brushed against your chin and you longed to feel it tied around your wrists. Your hand brushed along his bulge, feeling the taut fabric that covered it. As the feelings bubbled up inside of you, effervescent like champagne, you couldn’t stand it. No man should ever make you feel the way he did and with a small gasp of air, you reached for your knife again. James caught you fast, holding your wrist in an iron grip. 

“I’m afraid not, my dear. You won’t get that pleasure with me.” 

“Pleasure?” You asked, doe-eyed, feigning innocence yet again. 

“Perhaps another pleasure,” he cooed against your lips, his moustache tickling the flesh under your nose. You were divine… a shining beacon of temptation amongst a sea of poor fools. It had been decades since a woman captivated him the way you did. 

James sank to his knees, slowly, as you watched, holding your breath. His hands gathered your satin slip over your knees, and pushed it over your hips, exposing your silken underwear. The wet spot had grown considerably, and James pressed his lips against the damp fabric. The sensation was electric, sending chills up your spine in a wave of unadulterated pleasure. He kissed her again, pressing harder. He could almost taste her through the silk. You whimpered, and let your head drop between your shoulders. He brushed his lips across your mound again, and you got even wetter. For a brief moment, he disappeared and the reaction was painfully visceral.

“Don’t…. Don’t stop…” you said to the ceiling, out of breath and trembling. You could hardly get yourself upright to look at him. 

“I’ve no intention of doing so, my dear. None whatsoever.” Carefully, as though unwrapping a delicate gift, James pulled your underwear from your hips, tugging them delicately down your thighs. Murder always got him worked up, but this was an entirely different arousal.

“Let me see her…” he said, low His hands were on your thighs, resting carefully atop of them. 

Using your manicured fingers, you reached forward to spread your cunt to him, eagerly, obediently. She glistened in the low-lighting of the room and you heard him inhale. He leaned closer to her and began kitten-licking between your folds, sending a shockwave through your core. She clenched uncontrollably, tightening. James paused to observe, pleased with the reaction. He’d done so little, and you were already a mess. Placing his hands behind your knees, he scooted you further towards him.

Your cunt ached with everything he did; from the gentle touches to the way that his moustache tickled the soft skin of your inner thigh. You weren’t used to your heart beating this quickly outside of killing someone. He was making you feel things you’d long since forgotten. 

To say that you never experienced sexual pleasure would be a lie; you did. Usually, covered in blood and panting, after a kill, your body and senses would be so wound up that you’d finger yourself, use a vibrator, something to get yourself off. But this orgasm, you knew, would be different. And much quicker. 

With a breath, he flattened his tongue against your cunt, lapping at it hungrily. Your muscles all trembled, the first hint of an orgasm clawing at your insides. And just before you did, he pulled away. Cruelly. Mercilessly. As though he knew that he had you under his spell…. Oh, you’d kill him if he’d only let you. 

James slipped two fingers inside your waiting, wet cunt. You let out a desperate yelp, rocking your hips back and forth to meet his fingers. Electricity coursed through your core, your body quivering again. His fingers drilled into you, curling upwards with each thrust, hitting your sensitive spot. The pressure increased, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter around itself. You were close. 

“Speak to me,” he ordered. “Use your voice.” 

You swallowed, wetting your throat. It was frightfully hard to form words, your mind was too clouded with arousal and ecstasy. “C-can’t…. Feels…. So good….” 

James leaned forward again, the tip of his tongue drilling into your sensitive clit, twirling at it. After a moment, he encircled your clit with his lips, sucking softly. You were sweet, wet and singing for him. James hummed into your pussy, satisfied. With his fingers still thrusting inside you, the overstimulation was too much. Your coil snapped, and your hands flew to his hair, making tight fists in the greased locks. 

As you orgasmed, you called his name, chanting it over and over again like a prayer. He was there, between your legs, tugging you over the edge with whispered praises against your throbbing cunt. An attentive lover, James didn’t stop fucking you – or licking at you – until the final pulse subsided. 

“Now that I’ve made you mine,” he said, straightening up. “Let’s deal with your little hobby, my dear.” 

Made you his? You thought, chewing on the corner of your lip, as your eyes bored into his. How dare he – made you his. Despite feeling like you’d been bamboozled, you knew it was true. He’d made you his, and barred you from loving any other man again.

A knock at the door. You looked down at Stephen – you’d almost forgotten he was there. James got to his feet as the door opened, and you noticed that his cock had tented in his trousers, pulling against the fabric, begging for release. You gasped, looking at the woman as she entered. She was pushing a silver room service cart, though it was empty. 

“Fret not my dear, it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.” 

You furrowed your brows; his erection or a corpse in a hotel room? You weren’t sure which. Effortlessly, James hoisted Stephen’s expired body up onto the cart, waving his hand dismissively towards the woman, who hmm’d curtly, and made her way back towards the door. 

“Follow me,” he said, jovially as he headed towards the open door. He began whistling a tune, as though wheeling a body out into the hallway was the most normal, routine thing he’d done all day. Perhaps it was. You heaved a breath, and got up off the bed, pulling your underwear back up. 

“James, James, wait!” 

He paused. 

“Aren’t you going to… well…” 

His eyes followed yours to his groin, which was still stiff. You sucked on your bottom lip, looking up at him with come-hither eyes. Curiosity had gotten the best of you. Despite having just come, you wanted more, and you desperately wanted to know what the weight of his cock felt like in your hands.  

“Oh.” He smiled, pleased. With a slow nod, he reached forward to cup your chin with his large hands. “I’ll get mine.” 

[letshavedeernnertogether]

'Till nothing's left

the plot is: you came to the Radio Demon with just one request: eat me. Will he take the offer of a stranger?

words ≈ 3.1k

warnings: cannibalism, sexual tension that's turning into a little smut cuz i can't hold myself back, blood and gore, g/n reader, when i say cannibalism i mean a lot of cannibalism, you will be eaten >:)

author's note: is it a special treat for the friday the 13th? who knows... i was in a mood for something gross, but then i became horny, and then i got tired and sad. so we have this. and you have no idea how many times i changed the title (and i'm still not satisfied)

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

Alastor heard a quiet knock at the door, he wasn't waiting for anyone, and sent his shadow to meet a visitor. 

When the door opened you faced a slim shadow with a wide grin and narrow eyes. It slowly tilted its head, looking you over from head to toes. Its grin widened as if it saw something luscious in your form.

“May I come in?” You asked.

The shadow held its gaze on you for a little more and then flew aside, letting you in.

You followed the shadow through the hall, all was wood finished and decorated with deer antlers and heads of animals that fell as a hunter’s prey. The air in the house felt viscous and heavy, it smelled with wood, fur and rich alcohol. You came to the centre of the room, your guide suddenly dissolved, and a tall man materialised in its place. Now in the silence of the living room you stood in front of the Radio Demon himself.

His figure towered over you, casting shadow on you, but his crimson eyes illuminated your face, letting him examine you closely. His large yellow teeth were the sharpest you'd seen in hell, his smile was worse than sinners described you. It lay on his face like a slit, cutting his face from one ear to another, and his ears were on the top of his head. He grinned down at you, and you could hear a soft crackling of static sounding as if from his chest.

“Hello,” He pronounced, the sound of a static voice brushed your ears, making shivers run down your spine. You only nodded in response, feeling that your voice would fail you if you tried to speak with him now.

“Who do I have the honour of speaking with?”

“My name doesn't matter,” You uttered, finally collecting yourself and directing your eyes to him, “I'm here to offer you something, Mr. Radio Demon.”

“Just Alastor, dear,” He waved his hand, “And what is the offering?”

“Eat me.”

Like a curious animal he slowly tilted his head, his ears slightly stood up, a smile showed you more of his blade-like fangs, the shadow under his feet moved.

“Interesting,” He whispered, as if afraid that a loud voice could frighten your ask away, “And what did I do to deserve this, hm?”

You made a tiny step back when he made a step to you. Your eyes shifted, unable to maintain eye contact with the demon as you tried to phrase your thoughts, “It's not just a giving, Alastor. I give you my flesh but you have to know it has some consequences. For you. And… pleasurable ones I suppose…”

“What are the consequences, dear?” He raised a brow, looking down at you.

“I can't tell you but I swear with my soul — which soon will become yours — it won't hurt you.”

“Hmm,” He tapped his sharp chin with his index finger, “And why do you even offer me that?”

You hesitated for a moment but decided to answer the truth,

“It has its benefits for me as well.”

Looking in your eyes, Alastor could hardly read your thoughts. Your look wasn’t empty, though it seemed so when he first saw you. And now glaring down at you, he saw obstinacy in your gaze, and that was more important, the absence of fear. You came to him, offering just one thing — yourself. Corporally and spiritually. And he would be lying if he told you that he didn't find you beautiful at this moment, when all you longed for was sliding into his mouth between his sharp teeth and slippery tongue to bathe in his digestive juices. To dissolve inside of him. To satiate him.

Alastor knew he wouldn't refuse your offer, you looked so delectable, but he wanted to torture you with some questions just a little more as he saw how uncomfortable you were with them.

“And what if you're not for my taste?” He asked half teasingly, half seriously.

You answered in a deadpan, “Dismember me then with your teeth and let me bleed as an unworthy thing. But if I am then eat me. Consume me. Until nothing is left.“

Your eyes looked at him seriously and yet pleadingly. You didn't actually explain why you wanted to end your existence and why in such a way, but Alastor didn't really care. He was hungry. You looked delicious. You came here by your own will, offering him your body to eat. Why would he deny the offer? Why if your blush was so lovely, why if your vein pulsed so delightfully, why if you smelled like dark chocolate, salivating his mouth?

His hands lifted you easily and brought you to the table in the dining room to place on top of it. Your feet hang off from the table, your hands, you didn't know until now, clutched onto the red lapels of Alastor's suit.

“I ask you for the last time,” His eyes travelled down from your face to your neck, to your chest and belly that slowly rose and fell with every deep breath you were taking. Alastor licked his bottom lip, collecting the drool escaping his mouth. His heavy gaze met your eyes again, the hot breath of him burnt your face when he asked, “Will you feed me?”

Without hesitation, looking straight into his crimson eyes, you said,

“Bon appétit.”

A short sight escaped his lips as his smile grew wider. His tongue brushed his lips once again, and he leaned closer to you until his appendage touched the delicate skin on your neck. It traced up to the lobe of your ear, his teeth slightly grazed your skin, you heard his inhales and gulps so clearly, the sound awoke something in you, but you didn't dare to let yourself know what exactly. You just lay, burning from inside out under him, as his tongue licked where you were bare, whilst his hands kept you still.

“Delicious. Really, so delicious…” He murmured against your skin, and you felt how he began to undo your shirt. His palms travelled along your body, his fingertips tapped against your ribs and tummy, his claws slightly broke your skin, and his open mouth slid down to every new wound. His hot lips greedily pressed around the slit, tongue drew circles around the hole, the top of it slightly separated the thin walls, sliding inside, tasting your flesh, and making weak cries escape your mouth. It hurt, but somehow you didn't want him to stop. Alastor was gentle in a cruel act. He tenderly tore your skin up from your muscles, it burnt and stung at the same time, but as if under a spell your senses became dull, and next second his tongue licking up your bleeding flesh felt like a caress.

“Mmmph…” You bit on your lower lip when Alastor sank his teeth deep in you for the first time.

He immediately raised his head, looking at you,

“Too painful?” His lips and chin took the colour of your blood, they slightly glistened, and you couldn't understand why the hell he looked so handsome with your own blood on his face, “You didn't think it would be painless, did you?”

“I thought you'd do it quickly,” You admitted with your weak voice.

Alastor chuckled in low. It was a very dark and charming laughter, “Oh no, my dear! I want to savour the moment. It's not everyday dinner comes to me itself, and not everyday I eat something so good. And you, my dear, are in fact a delicacy.” His eyes looked over your figure, he licked his bloody lips clean, and his hands traced down to take off your trousers and underwear. Unbelievable how you still felt shame and tried to cross your legs to hide your sex, but the clawed black palms stopped you. His shadow grabbed you by your knees, peering at your blushed face, and when you tore your eyes from it, you saw Alastor admiring the view of your abdomen, thighs and…

“Are you gonna eat there?”

“You wish,” He smirked, “But I wouldn't mind having a bite here.”

He bent himself, eyes locked to yours, hands pressing you to the wooden surface. You gasped as his fangs buried in your thigh, and he tilted his head forward, breaking your skin more. You screamed for the first time, Alastor rolled up and closed his eyes in bliss. A satisfied groan was heard from his side.

He retracted his fangs from your thigh, admiring his work: your skin stained with blood, especially dark holes where his teeth went too deep were bleeding, the heavy smell of iron filled the air. Just a little more pressure and he could take a bite from you, your flesh would have been swallowed, a piece of you would have dwelled inside him. But he didn't do it. Because then you would cry, you would be scared, you'd like to take your words back, and Alastor wanted you to of your own free will until the end.

The room was filled with your soft whimpers, with the sound of your deep breaths in and out as you tried to bear with the pain. And these sounds were a peaceful melody for his ears, for in every weak inhale Alastor still could hear the shades of pleasure.

He was starving, but you were the first one in his sinful life who came to him volunteered just to feed him, to please him, and he was, to be honest, flattered. This day would be special for him for eternity, and he wanted to make it the same for you. And though all he would give to you this day would be pain, Alastor could at least try to blend it with delicious pride. He would be speaking compliments, praises and other kind words to show you how much he was enjoying you, for you deserved to know how much pleasure you delivered to him in your last minutes of life.

And he cooed,

“You're doing very well, my dear. Not many act as bravely as you do. You're truly a gem.” His hands caressed your hips and slowly went up with his fingertips slightly brushing your skin, until he gently cupped your face in his palms. He could see big tears forming in your eyes ready to run down your cheeks in every moment. Your cheeks blushed with shame of nudity, and your lips tried to take the form of something that would help you to pronounce a plea or his name maybe. You looked so perfect for him right now.

You in your turn saw a smiling demon hovering over you with a face stained with your blood. His chin, teeth, cheeks, the tip of his nose… Everything was red. Alastor rested his palms on the table, hanging over you, a shadow fell on his face but his eyes were glowing like embers, illuminating both of you with cherry red light. His tongue was licking his lips from left to right and from up down as he tried to collect everything of you what was around his mouth, and in his eyes you clearly saw adoration.

Your heart beat faster, and you parted your lips, taking a breath in. Your own blood dripped on you from his face, some droplets fell on your lips and by a reflex your tongue swept them inside. The sight made Alastor feel the heat, and the fact you didn't wince at your own taste made him lean closer to you.

“Darling,” He purred in low, sending vibration through your limbs, “How about your last wish? I'll do anything you ask for before I eat you up.” His face was now so close to yours you smelled your blood in his breath, and his every exhalation burnt your lips. “My sweet dear, let me please you as you please me. One good turn deserves another.” 

Your eyes roamed all over his face, and Alastor found it incredibly cute. His one hand found its place on your unwounded tight, caressing your soft skin until a little tickling made you slightly quiver under him. That moment Alastor knew that even if you'd ask for something indecent, he would do even this. He never felt attraction to a body, but yours looked so tasty he wanted to have it in every way possible. Of course with your permission. His name was dropped from your delicious lips in a long moan, making Alastor light up with self pride, when his hand slipped to your heat surprising him with its sticky wetness and warmth. Oh, did you really want this?

But your fingers closed around his wrist,

“J-just eat me. Oh… Just.. Until nothing’s left.” You looked at him pleadingly, licking your lips, carefully choosing your words, suppressing your carnal desire, ”I just want to be the only one you treat like that. Just promise me that you will never eat anyone the way you eat me.”

That was your wish, then? Very well. It was strange, but.. To his taste actually.

Alastor retracted his right hand, abandoning your sensitive warmth. He wasn't too sorry for this actually, his stomach ached more than any other part of his body. And after all, your last wish included more intimacy than what he had almost offered you.

To be his only one? To give his all attention only to you?

He gave you a smile that made your blood rush,

“I promise, my dear, you're my only one. And no one will ever experience the same as you will soon.” He lowered his head and you felt a touch to your chest and then heard a sound of a kiss, “Only for you I give my mouth and my body as your new home.”

Kisses and bites fell all over your body like drops of rain during a storm. Alastor marked your arms and your palms, your neck and chest, tummy and hips, your legs, knees, feet. He left pecks on your face and licked the tears running down behind your ears as you were lying, so he let his tongue mark these places too. Covering your body with kisses and cuts of his fangs, Alastor didn't stop hailing you with praises. He told you how beautiful your body was, described how good you tasted, he admired your behaviour and thanked you for coming to him. His words honeyed your ears, and every loving kiss accompanied with a little suck on a fresh wound soothed your pain.

Alastor didn't want to finish his meal and didn't even want to really start it, you were too delicious to be eaten up in a single bite. He wanted to savour you and he tried to prolong the pleasure as long as possible, to keep you in this state between bliss and torture for more. It was such a delicious sight. And the sounds you were making for him…

And when his teeth sunk too deep, and he heard your suppressed cries, he couldn't help his hand to go back to the delicious spot and fondle you until your sobs turned into deep exhales and long moans. You didn't try stop him anymore when he gently fucked you, and you didn't understand anymore whether your cried of the pain or pleasure he fed your body with.

You only wanted him to never stop being such a gentleman in such a gruesome act of love.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ * 

The table was clean. Well, it was clean from your body but not from your blood that still stained the tabletop, ran down the legs and made a dark red puddle on the parquet.

Alastor made as you wished — he left nothing.

Even your soul.

He killed you in the way he thought was the best for you. He believed it was a true act of mercy when he took your life with a single motion in a moment when you reached your heavenly bliss, so your brain didn't realise all the pain Alastor brought to your poor body. And when your body became lifeless but still warm Alastor ate limb by limb, leaving the most delicious parts for a dessert. He ate you raw, not willing to spoil your meat with any other tastes. You were perfect. Just the way you were lying in front of him with your bare soul and body. You were perfect.

The only part of you was left.

Your heart.

He traced with his fingertip along the muscle. When this little organ would disappear between his jaws all the traces of your living would be gone. And only a taste of you on his tongue, a memory of you on his fingers would still be wandering in hell by means of his mind.

But Alastor still didn't know the benefits of your death for you. He thought maybe you even lied to him about this to appear in his stomach sooner. But then there was a question: why? But you were the only person who knew the answer, and now you were gone. Completely.

And nevertheless Alastor was sure that consuming you gave him something pleasurable, just as you promised him. It was like your flesh filled him with something he had always lacked. And he foretasted the moment when your soul would saturate with him to increase his powers, for he knew in the moment he was chewing your heart that you were not just a common sinner. You were something bigger, greater.  

You were something he was sorry that it passed so soon. But he wasn't sorry he couldn't have anyone like you — you were unique. Perfect and ideal. And no one would ever compare to you. Not just to your taste and the tenderness of your flesh. You were more than a tasty dinner and a good deal. You gave him affection, showed him what attachment was. And with your delicacy you showed him that he could be loving too. And that this feeling could be pleasurable.

He wasn't sorry he wouldn't have others, but he was sorry he wouldn't have you. And so, swallowing the last piece of your heart, still sweet and warm, he waited for the surge of new powers, that such a special and worthy thing as you would definitely awaken in him. And then, resurrected in his power and magic, you would live as long as he lived, and as he killed another sinner, he would remember this evening and dinner, and the love you had proven existed.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

ps: seems like i was a little too crazy... and i think you can actually see how my mood changed while writing

one day i'll return to fluffy stories, but for now i just want... this.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FLOWERS FOR THE SICK AND GONE (II)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER III

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 6.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of stalking, talks of death, weapons, explosives, violence, gore, strained mother-daughter relationship, suggestive thoughts, mentions of sex, toxic modeling standards, etc. (Series 18+)

A/N: I started this before Nikto was confirmed for MWII multi., but I'll be using the 'Powercell' skin as his main attire now because it's literally so attractive.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You look at your hands as they rest in your lap, right foot jumping up and down in a display of internal anxiety under the table in your Mom’s office. It was cold, and the AC was turned all the way up; the floors barely helped—tile covered by thin rugs and windows open to the chilly morning. Like the opposite of Hellfire. 

Two days had passed since the explosion and you’d only just gotten the ability to leave the hospital. The doctors had wanted to keep you longer, but you had turned in a favor from your matriarch to have them ease off with their prodding and poking. 

The fact that they had been more interested in your permanent colorblindness had tipped you off that all the help you were going to be given had already been passed out. As a whole, that had been in the form of pain medication and surgical glue to the minuscule cut on your temple. 

The head bleeds a lot, you know, even if the injury is minor. You weren’t overly surprised the gash had been tiny; you know what a violent wound to that part of the skull looks like. 

Feels like.

Your lips thin at the thought of the nurses and their curious and narrowed eyes—the doctor wanting to do more in-depth tests as if you hadn’t gone through a slew of them before.

There was a reason you hated hospitals.

Shivering, you take a deep breath to calm down right as the door behind you opens with the sound of heeled feet and a hurried sigh. The door automatically shuts with a slam and a click of metal hinges.

“Thank God nothing happened to your face!” A hand sets itself on your shoulder and you restrain a flinch, looking to the side to the familiar face of your mom as her head tilts to look you up and down in your seat. “Stand up, let me see you.”

You open your mouth to speak but you’re quickly cut off by her serious expression. 

Standing, you steady yourself by placing a hand on the side of the seat, knuckles tight as your casual sneakers take your weight. “It’s just a scratch Mom, promise. I got lucky.” When you can stand without the fear of falling over, you release it and study your mother’s fancy attire.

Dress pants, blouse, and pounds of extravagant jewelry around her neck and wrists like shackles. She looks just the same as you’d always seen her. Cold. 

In some ways, she was more suited to this city than you were. 

“I’ll say—you could have damaged your skin.” She motions to your body, shaking her head and sighing before moving behind her desk to sit down. A large window is behind her—shining in chilled light. “We’ll have to hope and pray that the cut heals before the next photoshoot you have scheduled. Have they told you when you’ll be back in the Agency?”

“...three people are dead, and you’re worried about me?” you say quietly, gut-twisting. “What about them?”

She pauses, her hand half holding a piece of paper from her pile. She glances up at you and thinks for a moment. Your eyes dig into hers, dejected. But she doesn’t think much of this, judging by the confused emotion that swirls behind her gray pigment. 

“I’m sorry, Beauty,” no, she’s not. Your face pulls at the nickname, but you say nothing until she’s done talking. “But their job was to keep you safe. They succeeded, it’s unfortunate, I know, but if they had to…pass,” she strains through the word, not wanting to say the other. For your benefit or hers, you know not. “To keep you alive, then I say it was an even trade.” 

It’s nearly like a slap to your face as your body goes tight, sitting back down into the seat with a puff of air. Like you’d just been slipped poison, your throat starts to fizzle with bile. 

Yefim’s dead body slashes in the back of your mind; the lower half gone and the rest spilling out. Confused eyes and burned skin that smells like something out of a kitchen no matter how morbid the thought was. 

She wasn’t there, you tell yourself. She doesn’t know how bad it was.

Screaming mixed in with crying and Alyona’s insistent barks of orders. Her hands pulled you up and shielded you from the disintegrated ash of Petya and Aleksandr. One splayed out the broken window and the other lay in an unrecognizable heap a foot from the bakery. 

The only people to survive were the Baker’s boy and the two of you, but then again that was half. 

“I don’t think that’s right—”

“If you were a mother, then you’d be agreeing with me,” the Consul explains, shaking her head. “But that’s not why I wanted to bring you here.” With your mom, sometimes it was better just to let things go and have them disappear into the past; you’d gotten good at brushing past comments just to satisfy her. It was just easier.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking down at your lap before closing your eyes. Looking back up, the woman is signing papers and doesn’t glance at you before speaking. 

“There was a break-in at the bakery an hour before you went there,” your body stills, a strange feeling in your gut as it tightens. “Nothing was stolen but Mr. Morozov,” the owner, “says the locks were broken off; he never told authorities until now because it was minor. I think that leaves us with the answer about how that explosive got under the floorboards.” The scribble of a pen before it’s placed down and your mom’s eyes settle back on you with a frown on her lips. Her makeup makes her look like a stone statue you’d see in a museum; blank with an undertone of something else. 

You stutter in broken intervals, repeatedly tapping your finger on your wrist, “How do you know about this?” 

“I’m paid to know,” your mother mutters but offers more. “One of the employees is American. He’s here and planning to extend his visa for four years to care for his dying father.” Her voice drops. “Thank God that he wasn’t working.” 

Being one of the two American Consulate Generals in Russia, your mother’s job was to, officially, “...Preserve and protect the relationship, and be a point of contact, between the United States of America and Russia.” 

It also meant that any American citizens in Yekaterinburg were under her watchful eyes. This Consulate building provides a multitude of services—issuing visas, and renewing passports were the big ones, while registering births and deaths was also added to that chart. You’d never looked much into it, but knew it was intensive work. Everything ‘American’ going on in this city, your mom knows about. 

“I’ve got a landfill of paperwork, so I’ll have to cut this off at the base,” she continues and you rub at the base of your cut with a flinching hand. You carefully tense as if a bombshell is going to be dropped on you, thighs shifting on the seat and feet unconsciously putting themselves farther under the chair. 

The woman blinks at you and folds her hands on the table, knuckles tight. 

“The Russian government is eager to keep lines of communication open with the USA, which means me.” You don’t like where this is going—certainly not with that folder that your mother was grabbing from out of her top drawer; having to unlock it with the name tag around her neck. A small beep echoes over the large room. “I don’t think I need to explain how much this puts me in a hole now that a stalker is after a Consul’s daughter and everyone knows about it.” You feel guilty but you don’t know why. This wasn’t your fault….right? 

“I have meetings planned into next week from the second the sun rises until it peaks its stupid ass back up on the other end.” She speaks low, running a hand over her head but still keeping you in her sight. She slaps a bulging manila folder onto the desk and leans back with a sigh. 

Your eyes meet in a locking of wills and you restrain yourself from apologizing. In your lap your hands clench.

“Any weapon,” she speaks slowly so you take in every word—as if you were a toddler. You hate when she gets like this. “Any goes through so many hoops to be owned it’s practically not worth it, and the same goes for possible parts used to make them. Whoever did this either has connections or a pile of money to use for bribes; I don’t know which I’d prefer, but based on his presents I have a good guess.” 

“But why would someone do that?” You have to speak—to ask. How could someone be so cruel and malicious? Kill someone—multiple someones? To you, it was just unthinkable. Even just being a part of it had wreaked your sleep schedule, left you writhing in bed from an inability to sleep out of fear of seeing Yefim’s face again—gray blood; colorless gore. It was a chore to get up in the morning and eat what little you could.

Being unable to see color had never left you more terrified than when that pretty boy’s eyes had stared into yours until everything was snuffed out like a matchstick. 

“Because this person,” the Consul states, answering you firmly. “He doesn’t care about you as an individual. To him, Beauty…you’re just an object that he wants to own. Your picture is all he thinks about and everyone else needs to be out of the background, do you understand?”

You go lightheaded, face quickly tilting down and contorting into itself. 

Your mother sits straighter and reaches a hand across the table, lightly saying your name with the voice she would use to read stories in your youth. Skin burning, you look at it, but after a moment you weakly place your own into hers, heart hammering and brain laced with a primal fear. Though the woman’s grip tightens and squeezes lightly, you get no warmth from the gesture. Yet still, it’s better than nothing. 

Alyona was away with her relatives and fiance since she’d been released from the hospital earlier; you’d spoken there briefly, but it wasn’t the same as it would have been if you’d had her here.

“We’re going to get this figured out, okay?” You nod, trying to smile as she studies your face—lingering on your temple before she frowns deeply and pulls back. Loudly, she states, “I’ll order some scar cream to your penthouse when we’re done.” 

“Alright,” your lips mumble, ribs like iron cages for too-large lungs.

“But now into the important part. I need you to pick one.” She pushes the folder closer to you, and your hand snaps out to grab it. It instead punches the desk and you hiss, bringing it back to your chest. Your mother minutely blinks in shock, eyes confused. “Still with that Spatial Awareness? I thought you said it was getting better?”

“I’m…still working through it,” you grumble. You wanted to tell her there wasn’t any ‘getting better’ from this. It was just another problem you’d have to deal with your entire life. But, again, it’s easier.

She huffs as you correctly locate the folder and pick it up, placing it gently into your lap and flipping it open. Inside you find file after file, taking the first one into your fingers and propping it up before blinking in confusion at the black ink and tiny picture of a man. 

You briefly look at the name, processing, before gazing back up at the woman with a furrow in your brows. 

“Mom?” 

She smiles.

“I have three men of Russian descent who are candidates to be your next around-the-clock guard.” Your matriarch is oblivious to your apparent hesitation to take on another person into your life, your shoulders hunching in. “All part of a PMC group called KorTac. I’d ask for a broader scale, but being born here and previously serving in the military would give them far more privileges than any others.” 

You’re already shaking your head, “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. I still have to send my apologies to all the others’ families. I–I,” your voice cuts before you can let the tears weigh your sentence down with emotion. 

Your mother didn’t do that kind of thing. 

“Sweetheart,” the woman draws out, shaking her head, “they don’t want to hear from you, you know that.” Her voice hardens. “You’re my responsibility. Now, look at the options.” 

Gritting your teeth, you want to stand and stalk out, say to hell with her PMCs and her bland eyes. The way she talks with care but hides it behind a wall of knives like some protective barrier; like she needs to do that. 

But you stay your voice and look back down, brushing past pages to have all of the pictures lined up right next to each other.

Blinking, you ask, numbly, “What kind of privileges?”

Your mother smiles though a thankful breath. “Weapons, body armor; they’ll be allowed to enter and go about business as they see fit without normal blockades. People here trust their own.”  

Fire races through your mind, all-consuming black smoke and the bland ash of a burning building. Trust their own? One of their own had just killed three people and injured three more just to get your attention. How was that trust?

Your eyes gloss over words, or what little of them you could read beyond inked-out sections. Names smudge and achievements blurr; medals with no hold on you and a list of missions accomplished with what you assumed to be perfect records. 

“These men have killed people,” you say, shifting to the last file as you don’t look at it right away, instead leveling the Consul with a pleading twist to your lips. “A lot of people.”

As an individual, you wouldn’t say you were very confrontational or quick to jump to violence—you did damage control and appeased more than antagonized. There was less stress when everyone could get a portion of what they wanted.

You just didn’t like senseless brutality.

“Then there’s no one better for the job.” Sometimes you wonder if your mother even raised you at all. 

Forehead creased, you shift back to the papers, staring at the last man of the three in a moment of flickering orbs. His intimidating appearance makes your eyes go slightly wider with shock as you focus in. 

Nikto is all that was given for the man’s name—Russian: Никто—and the individual was shrouded in so much black you wondered if he might create a void of energy around him; some kind of gruff and grueling cloud. Even from the picture, the pale, contrasted, eyes dug into you, even brighter than Petya’s had once been. Though, these eyes were inlaid into some strange mask, the top of the covering a type of Kevlar and the bottom covered in rough canvas that pulls back and completely covers the rest of the head. There are straps that extend to hold his chin and on the sides of his nose… 

Your face pulls with mild disgust. Are those two screws? What the hell…?

This Russian was, plainly put, the face of death. Perhaps even something worse.

The theme of black continued, as it was the only color besides white you could identify. Strapped vest of armor plates, arms and hands that rest behind his back covered by long sleeves. Ammo was clipped at the sides of his upper chest and a large collar of armor stamped with the letters and number of ‘MP-0’. Your eyes slide to what you can read about him, morbidly intrigued as you frown at his belt full of grenades and knives. An assault rifle hangs from his chest by a long strap, limp as a dead limb.

But as you look, there was even less information available about this beast than there was visible skin behind the face-paint smeared into his sockets. Not even an age.

“Nikto,” you murmur. You wondered why you liked how it slipped off the tongue. 

But you’ll also wonder in the future why you choose him at all. 

Maybe it was the way for the first time in two days you’d felt something other than fear and regret; something that spread like water into the lines of your face to make them smooth. Maybe it was because out of the others, he would be the type to do his job and then leave entirely without a trace.

A blink and then…gone. 

You can't have anyone else die on you—and Nikto seems the only one able to take death by the throat and throttle him with the handle of his own scythe. 

Maybe.

Maybe.

Your head tilted, and you blinked. 

“This one,” you toss the file to your mother’s desk and watch it hit off-center. the woman’s face twitches at the monster-esc profile. It’s like she ages ten years.

“...Lovely.”

—

One day later you meet Nikto, but before you do, you make a quick visit to the hospital with a bundle of fresh flowers. You’d brokenly asked for blue and white, but you can’t verify if that was really what you were holding. 

At the front desk, you ask for room three and are simply pointed down the hallway without a word. A small smile is handed over, but no one answers as you slink away, guiding your legs along the lines of the tile on the ground. Standing outside you knock softly and grasp the handle, pushing it open after a deep breath. 

The Baker’s Boy lays in a bed and his dark eyes snap to yours immediately, widening. His curls are crisped and shorter now, singed at the ends. Arms taped with bandages and gauze, his wounds are not wide-spread but severe enough to keep him for longer than you and Alyona. 

“Sergei?” You ask, standing in the doorway and plastering a soft smile on your face. You’d gotten his name through a text with Aly, where she asked you to give him a kind word as you dropped off your gift.

Sergi blinks quickly at you, and something like fear slashes his face. You raise your hands rapidly, flowers in the crook of your elbow. 

“N-no, I’m sorry. I know you’ve probably heard a lot about me, the news has been…uh…” Your words trail to a fake chuff of laughter, looking to the side wall for a moment. “Well, it’s not right of me to take no blame.” The man only stares and stays silent, sitting up straighter in bed and thinning his lips. His body is tense. 

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to drop these off. I-I’ll leave.” Walking quickly to the side table, you place down the flowers and clear your throat, sending him a very guilty glance. “The woman I was with gives her well-wishes for your recovery. I’m sorry,” you say again, nodding your head and locking your hands in front of your abdomen. 

Turning on your feet like an elite track star, you dart quickly back to the door. 

“Girl.” You halt in the doorway, one arm quivering just as it had before the explosion. Your head swivels, surprised. 

Sergi gazes at you, his dark eyes large and serious, tinged with unease. His English is barely understandable, and he struggles through the words with an accent so deep it’s a series of throaty grunts. 

“Do not come back.” 

Your lungs tighten as if someone squeezes them in a ruthless fist. Nodding shakily, you dash out and don’t stop until you’re back outside, breathing in gasps and putting a hand to your mouth to stifle your ragged breaths. People who come and go look at you as you lean heavily into the wall, some concernedly furrowing their brows but ultimately walking past. 

You suppose they didn’t recognize you in all of the normal clothes—a thick turtleneck under a jacket and sweatpants. No makeup with a ball cap atop your head. Clearing your dry throat, you get a hold of yourself and keep your face down-cast, slithering off with a zig-zag pattern of feet. 

It’s okay. It’s okay. He has a right to feel like that. It’s going to be okay.

But it doesn’t stop the pit in your heart from growing until it threatens to swallow you whole.

It’s only when you’re five minutes late to the Consulate building that your mother levels you with an unimpressed look, standing at the entrance with her arms crossed. You walk quickly to hide the rings around your eyes from her, not wanting to start an argument about what went wrong.

“He’s been here for half an hour, Seraph,” you cringe, waving to the woman at the front desk who nods and gives a pitying tilt of her head. 

Half an hour? Talk about a time freak.

“I know, I’m sorry, I just lost track of time.” Hands take you by the side of your arms and swivel you back around as you hang up your jacket, making you flinch but go along with the action. 

Your mother levels you with a stare that the long it goes on, eases. It mingles on the border of comfort and concern before she awkwardly squeezes and lets go of you, eyelids blinking to study the trash can near the door. 

“Stop…apologizing, Beauty.” The curtain re-falls and your mom stands straighter, brushing down her fitted blouse and clearing her throat. “It’s unbecoming. Now, remember to smile—everyone loves your smile.” 

You hide your yearning and plaster on a fake grin, feeling nervousness infecting your blood. 

In your career, meeting new people was a requirement. Photographers, other models, business associates who reach out for brand deals; the list was long. Beyond a desirable body and the mask of provocative expressions, physical image was only a part of it—being good at playing sales broker added to appeal. At the parties AMA shipped you off to, especially. 

Alyona often called the two of you exceptionally well-paid and up-standing sex workers, but withholding the intimacy of sheets and panting breath. You sold the idea of sex just by being there, which, oftentimes, is far better than the sin of flesh itself. Your agency knows it well.

Your face was an asset; just like your body and expressions—a tool.

But somehow you knew that whatever face you put on, model or the woman who’d just seen immense horror, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest. Just on a picture alone, Nikto had ingrained himself in your mind as an idol of seriousness and blunt orders. Not like Yefim, but somehow that made you feel better about this situation. It was even the reason you had chosen him in the first place.

No getting close to this one, you reason as your mother guides you down a hallway, hand firm on your back. 

“Is there anything I can know besides his name?” Watching room after room passes you, you’re brought to the far back of the Consulate building. You study the large wooden door. 

It’s a moment before your mom responds, rubbing lightly along your spine. “I’ve heard he’s a former FSB Agent. Spetsnaz as well. He has an extensive record, but no...concerns to worry about. You’re in exceptionally good hands.”  

“Concerns?” A huff. “Like if he’ll kill me before the creep has the chance,” you’re leveled with a stiff look.

“No one is going to die, Seraph.” People already have. 

With a frown, you grasp the handle and shrug off your mother’s touch, entering the room and letting the door shut behind you with a thump as you pad through. It’s only a millisecond, but you plaster back on a content expression and loosen your muscles; the internal warfare of constant tension makes everything ache. 

You lock eyes with a standing absence of light. 

In person, he was even more dark…and you didn’t just mean the outfit. Staring, bright eyes dig into your soul with no emotions—so departed from normal expression it’s like looking into a corpse. 

Nikto’s standing with his hands behind his back, his shoulders loose but pulled with soldier-like authority. He’s tall, and the large bulk of his chest and thighs make you swallow down saliva as you stand still and blink quickly. His stomach bulges with muscle from under his armor—the same you’d seen in his profile. 

The Russian was all the same except for the lack of weapons, though, the duffel bag at his side certainly held them in its inky depths.

He’s built like a damn brick wall, your mind blanks, not lying with the feelings of slight unease. Nikto was just…still. Not blinking. Watching you with a gleam of something strange. The Russian man’s eyes narrow with…disgust? Maybe you were reading too much into that, but one thing was certain.  

He was studying you... aggressively. Prodding.

A second passes like this.

Oh, your face remains a plastered calm but your heart skips a beat, he’s waiting for me to introduce myself. You quickly clear your throat and walk forward, not seeing the way he tenses and sets his feet harder into the ground. 

“Umh,” scolding yourself for your hesitation, you shakily put out a hand for him to shake, keeping a respectable distance away. 

Finally, a slight movement; a dart of his eyes down to your limb.

“I’m Seraph, nice to meet you. You go by Nikto, right? Just Nikto…? I’m sorry, that was all I was able to read on your file.” You’re blinked at slowly, left gazing up into this beast's covered face and his terrifying mask of fabric and rigid material. 

How tall can a man be before it becomes insulting to be standing next to him?

As the silence continues, your hand stutters before you let it fall, awkwardly stuffing it into your pocket. 

Alright.

“There was…” You lick your lips, glancing off to a gray picture on the far wall. “A lot of black ink, to be honest. Quite the record, huh?” 

A strained chuckle bounces off the small space. 

Nikto doesn’t respond and you blink quickly through confusion and growing embarrassment. Your face burns like a heat gun was set on it. A highly uncomfortable silence falls, but you very much doubt that the man in front of you even feels it like you do—a slow deterioration of your confidence.

And why in the hell was he still looking at you like that?! All you’d done is walk through the damn door and lock eyes with him!

But then he speaks as you’re just about to turn away and walk out of the room with your tail between your legs, mentally exhausted and needing to put ice on your forehead. 

“Seraph, like angel?” Broken English, but better than Sergi’s. What caught you was the depth of it—the rough scrape of vocal cords and raspy grit. Sandpaper, nearly. You restrain yourself from cringing. Nikto scoffs and he looks away from you, stance immobile. “You do not look like angel.”

Your mind takes a moment to latch onto the words, jaw slackening in shock and lashes fluttering for a second. “E…excuse me?”

Nikto grunts and glares at the door. 

It’s your turn to stare, mouth opening and closing with small smacks of lips with a sudden blankness to your brain. Your ability to speak seems to leave you in a small instant between the stab of insult and brief anger. While you felt yourself above the base instinct of vexation, Nikto’s words had soaked you in their substance of prodding bluntness. 

Your beauty was all you had, certainly, he hadn’t meant that. Surely it was just a translation error. Your lips darken with a frown, eyes flashing. 

But something else pierces you in the chest, too.

Without another exchange, you turn around and begin walking to the exit, hands in your pockets clenched into your palms. There’s a silent padding of feet right behind you and the shuffle of a duffel bag. Your body freezes and you slowly look over your shoulder. 

The Void follows, bag in hand and dead eyes peeling back your psyche as if this was normal; you find him a few steps forward from where he was, like your own personal shadow.

He freezes as you do, but this is more… purposeful. Both of you lock gazes, nothingness and veiled discourse flaring. 

But you were better than that. 

You had to be better. 

So you soften your expression and, under your breath, sigh heavily. “I’ll write you up my schedule,” Nikto blinks, brows barely pulling in. “Get you a copy from AMA or something.” 

“Already acquired.” His hulking figure seems to always be tense and ready to strike. For a second you’re reminded of Petya with a sharp slap to your face. But Nikto’s bark is far sterner if that was even possible. Almost like a single sound.

You bring a hand to itch at your temple, stopping before you can peel at the soft skin covered in scar cream.  

“...Right,” at a slight loss of what to do, you shuffle your feet and open the door—leaving the room and holding the thing partially open behind you for the Russian. “Of course.” Your grumble only meets your ears, put off. 

Nikto moves out of the doorway, having to slightly tilt his shoulders to fit through the opening without slamming into the frame. He does so fluidly and almost robotically. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you walk like a scary dog?” You let go of the door and pull ahead, smiling somewhat more real as the light eyes snap down at you. There’s a brief grunt of breath from behind his mask.

Nikto is silent for a long while, growling out, “Hет.” Formal. Brisk. 

No. 

You get the feeling that you’re annoying him, but you can’t help but slightly enjoy it. Finally, some semblance of normality you could cling to. “Well, they should,” you admit, studying the loping walk—a slightly tilted pace that would suit a wolf or a bear, even. Making sure your own hand slides against the wall to keep you in a straight line, you continue, cheekily. “Because you do.” 

Nikto stares straight ahead and stays silent, something akin to irritation in his visible portions; free hand twitching. You tilt your head.

“Y’know, this would be better if you could hold a conversation.” 

“Да.” You smile wider.

“So you’ll have a conversation with me?” 

 “Hет.” Nikto glares from a side-eye, the words hissed through clenched teeth. If he was this easy to rile up, this would be more fun than you thought.

Your eyes linger on his form, the biceps, and the forearms that strain behind padded pieces of thick material. Combat boots and loose black cargo pants shoved into them.

This might be a good distraction, at the very least. Let the authorities work in the background and keep this cut of the crop. No feelings, of course. Not like Yefim, you remind yourself again. Never again like Yefim. 

The dead man’s face slips behind your eyelids and you blink your face forward. 

“Are you only going to say ‘yes’ or ‘no?’” Nikto’s bulk enshrouds you heavily as you take a right back to the lobby where your mother waits. He hums in his throat, before muttering something under his breath in harsh Russian. You have no idea what that means or if you even want to decipher it, you shrug and shut up. 

It was probably a curse anyway. Or a plea for reassignment. 

Your mother’s face pulls tight as Nikto shows himself beside you, his sights locking onto the Consul as you grab your jacket, missing the hook once before you grasp it firmly and slip it on. 

“If everything is in order…?” She trails, before frowning at the man and coming over to you. 

“We can always find a way to bring you back to the States,” you blink, her face serious as it slashes through you. “Get your passport up to date and find a different modeling agency.” 

What’s with the change in attitude? You ask yourself, brows pulling in and studying your mom’s expression. She’s older, but maybe you’re only realizing it now that you care to look. Wrinkles and a certain film to her gaze that parents seem to grow when they’re trying to convince you of something.

Nikto watches and listens closely a few feet from the door, duffel bag still in hand. 

“You know that’s not an option. Allurement is exclusive—I won’t get a better deal than the one I have.” Your words come out confused. “Weren’t you the one that told me this was the best option, that they would be the only ones to take me?” You pause. “Especially with the way I am?”

Her face twists, shaking her head instantly with a scrunched nose and flashing orbs. Even mentioning what happened made her act like water near the brim of a glass; one shake and the liquid would seep over and pool to the counter. “I don’t remember saying that.” 

You close your mouth before changing the subject, offering an easy, yet strained, smile. 

“I’m going to be okay, Mom. Besides, the guy’ll get caught before we know it. All of them do. Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim,” your voice tightens, “will get to rest easy.” 

Your matriarch gives a small twitch of her lips back, kisses your forehead, and says, “Alright, Beauty,” you hide your cringe, “I’m one call away.” 

She walks off with a click of her heels. 

“Girl,” you look up from zipping your jacket. Nikto glares at you. “быстро. Hurry up.” 

“Hurry up?” Your voice bounces as you make your way to the exit, sending a thinly hidden face of amusement. “I’m just going home, there’s no rush to things.”

“We need to secure the premises.”

We? You nearly ask, wondering what he meant. Obviously, he didn’t mean you and him, based on general attitude right now. Maybe that was just a strange quirk of his. 

“Around my penthouse?” Nikto’s shoulder presses on the barrier and he’s outside before you can finish your sentence. You narrowly catch the door and slip past like a horrible snake, elbow slapping the frame—you hold back a hiss and enter the street. “I…I don’t think it’s overly necessary, the police move through that area a lot—”

“Not the penthouse, Whelp,” you struggle along, feet rapid to stay at his side and multitask by staying in a line. He walks in long strides, parting people away from him with only a sharp glance and a scoff. “Inside.” 

Your body halts before you blink back to your senses and make a noise in the back of your throat.

“I-inside, Nikto? I’m sorry, I’m not following.” You huff under your breath and stick beside him, using his presence as a sort of barrier. He walks near the road. “I never agreed to that. And Whelp? What the hell, man?”

“I do not care.” 

“You’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” You grumble, sighing. 

I guess I’m having guests. 

Has your mother given permission for that? A stranger with weapons thumping inside of your penthouse like he was your live-in boy toy? Eating in your kitchen and putting his feet up on the coffee table? God, the public would have a field day with it when they saw him walking down with you in the morning to go to work.

He couldn’t have been put in the building across the street? But you suppose there are worse things that can happen—you have the space for it. With a dejected expression, you sigh; you seem to be doing that a lot recently.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Nikto stares down at you as your feet stutter along, seeming to raise a brow in annoyed question as to why you were struggling to keep up. 

You wondered how much he had been told beyond some rich Consul's daughter needed a new bodyguard. Did he know any of it? 

“What?” Your lips twist, smile flicking out. “See something you like?”

“No. You’re slow.” You hide your groan and face forward, brows falling into a line.

But you’re not oblivious to the way his piercing eyes survey the crowd, and while the mask is drawing attention, random people peeping break off like sticks as he’s clocked by you, darting to make room. How his large shoulders span and block the road from you, pace pulling back to fit right behind you with a low grunt as your arms brush. 

A grunter too—he really is a scary dog.

“Why do you walk like this,” Nikto growls. “Are you unable to feel your feet? It is pathetic.”

“Are you going to stop insulting me?” You glare ahead and cross your arms. “Or are you going to keep playing the jerk until this is over?” 

His eyes burn into yours for a moment, before he places such a heavy hand on your shoulder that you almost squeak at the pressure. It nearly slants you forward before your back tightens. 

“Keep quiet. Walk.” 

“Well, now I don’t think I’m going to,” his eyes flash, those colorless films going into themselves with tiny flecks of surprise. You suppose no one’s ever had banter like this with him before, being in a PMC…or really just being him as a whole. He doesn’t seem the joking type over a back-handed sarcastic comment.

“So, how has your day been, Nikto?” Your voice is smug and your smile large, perfect and bright, and ravishing. “Today I woke up at five AM and ate an apple with yogurt. Then I—”

Nikto growls deeply and forces you on through a gawking crowd. 

The rest of the walk is filled with a one-sided conversation coming from a grinning face, pale, boiling eyes, and the shadow across the street who watches through the thin glass of a bookstore. The perfect view.

A hat on his head. 

A slight distance to his addled expression.

A medium slip-joint knife in his pocket.

TAGS:

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[sapphicseasapphire]

Ravio my beloved!! I have some lore to share! I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself but I want to make sure I have everything together! I’m very heavily considering throwing Ravio in with the rest of the Cryptid Chain since 1) he’s my little guy and 2) he’s a Link, right??? Technically?? Let me know if you’d be interested in seeing him included in the adventure!

Anyway, yeah. Lore under the cut! (This one gets rough so be warned. Blood and gore and violence against children)

Ravio was born to a small pod of Mer that lived in Lorule’s sea. He was always such a happy child, excitedly babbling about everything he could see, playing with his friends, swimming freely under the watchful eyes of his family.

(Pods of Mer are very close. While they are not all blood related, they’re very close! It’s pretty communal: for example, Ravio had parents but was raised by every adult in the pod. While he didn’t have any siblings, the other children were all basically his brothers and sisters. In such a tight knit community, trust is very important. It’s one of the things that makes the Mer so strong).

Since Mer are 100% aquatic and never leave the ocean, they were oblivious to the horrors that had taken place in the land of Lorule. Years ago, their Triforce had been destroyed, which corrupted everything that resided there. Aquili, being amphibious, were affected by this. While most of them were in the ocean at the moment of the Triforce’s destruction, those that were on land were overcome by evil, transforming into horrible monsters that would come to be known as Ku. These Ku were ruthless, attacking everything in sight, both on land and in the sea.

As the years passed, their numbers grew, along with the surge of other monsters that plagued the land. Lorule fell to ruin, but the ocean remained lively. Of course, it became dangerous with even more monsters. In this world, instead of turning against each other, the Mer and the remaining Aquili issued a truce, agreeing to work together to fend off their common enemy.

Ravio’s pod was part of the alliance, but he was too young to remember it. Back then, all that mattered to him was his parents, his friends, and collecting little trinkets to play with. Children were sheltered from such issues, and while Ravio grew up in the throws of war, he never looked the enemy in the eye. Aquili didn’t often visit his pod- if they did, they met with the adults. Ravio never met any. Even with his life upturned by the Ku and other monsters, he never knew bloodshed or violence.

He was only five years old when that changed.

It was a quiet night, peaceful, no different from any other. He slept soundly in his father’s arms, a soft kelp doll snug in his hands. He was sleeping so deeply that he didn’t wake when the screaming started. He didn’t wake when his father’s arms tightened around him. He didn’t even wake when the scent of bloody water met his little nose.

No, what woke him was when he was suddenly thrown into open water. In an instant, the arms that held him were gone. His little pocket of warmth and comfort, gone. His father had thrown him. The force of it ripped his doll out of his tiny hands and his eyes snapped open instinctively.

At the time, he didn’t comprehend what he was seeing. But when he’d remember that night years later, he’d wish he’d kept his eyes closed.

The water was cloudy and red, and smelled like iron and sick. Screams rung out from all sides, horrible and aching. And in front of him was his father… and a Ku biting into his shoulder. Ravio’s father flailed in the open water, and the plumes of red coming from where the monster’s mouth had closed around his flesh only got darker and darker.

The beast did not let go.

He met his father’s eyes. Eyes that were pleading, begging, screaming for him to get out of here.

Red.

Red.

Red.

Ravio was frozen.

And he watched as more Ku swam to the scene, all of them bloodied. Their eyes were crazed, their minds warped by a corruption that Ravio was too young to understand. They swarmed the area, and two more grabbed his father. The child, frozen as he was by fear, could only watch as they tore him to shreds.

He watched his father die at the hands of the Ku, and then he watched as those crazed eyes fell upon him.

They stalked closer, slowly, as if they knew they could take their time. Ravio choked on the bloody water, his eyes burning with tears as he watched their approach. They were going to kill him. He was going to die, just like his father, just like the rest of his pod, and there was nothing he could do about it.

A clawed hand grabbed him by his tail and he screamed.

Red.

He was pulled forward, claws tearing his flesh, and the five year old was helpless to stop it.

Red.

A monstrous face loomed above him, the clouded water doing little to hide the jagged teeth and crazed eyes of his attacker. Ravio cried out and squeezed his eyes shut tight, squirming in its grasp-

Red. Red, red, red-

Before he could feel the bite of those awful teeth, the Ku above him let out an awful scream and released him. Ravio screamed again as the claws were torn from his tail, but he opened his eyes just in time to see the beast under attack. By now, the Ku was far enough away from him that the murkiness of the water blurred any details, but he’d recognize that silhouette anywhere: it was his mother. His mother, tearing at the Ku with nothing but her fists. His mother, bathed in bloody water. His mother, injured and exhausted and winning.

The Ku went down after one hell of a fight, and when it was over, Ravio’s mother was looking worse for wear. But she weakly made her way over to him, urgency in her eyes. Ravio cried as she pressed a kiss to his little forehead. He clung to her- and she held him. But only for a moment.

She looked between his injured tail and his pale, terrified face. And then she brushed his hair out of his eyes and leaned in close.

“It’s going to be okay, Ravio,” she had said, and even though her voice trembled, he believed her. “You’re going to be okay.”

Ravio could say nothing in response, choking back sobs as she held him.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered against the top of his head. “I’m so sorry, baby. I need you to listen. Can you do that for me? Are you listening?”

Ravio nodded against her chest, still unable to speak.

“I love you, Ravio. I love you so much.” She squeezed him closer. “And when I tell you to, I need you to swim away as fast as you can. Do you hear me? As fast as you can. Don’t stop for anything.”

And that’s when she let go of him.

“Mama,” he sobbed, and she hesitated before she turned to face the remaining Ku. There were tears in her eyes as she swam upward, her shadow falling protectively over her son.

“I love you,” she said one more time, “Now go. Go, Ravio. Now!”

And then the Ku were upon her.

Red.

Red.

Red.

Little Ravio turned and fled the scene, swimming as fast as his injured tail could take him. He swam through little tunnels in the rock and coral, ensuring that the bulky Ku would not be able to follow him. He swam until the water was clear of blood, until he could see the rippled patterns in the sand at the bottom of the seafloor, until the sun’s light filtered in through the waves above.

He was in shallower water than he’d ever been in before.

His tail had stopped bleeding at some point in the night, but it was painful. He could not keep going forever. And where… where was he supposed to go? Back to his pod?

Ravio did not stop swimming. He was tired. He was hurt. And he was confused. Later, he’d admit that he didn’t comprehend what he had seen. He fully expected his parents to appear out of clear water and take him home. He didn’t understand that they were gone… he’d never known death before that point.

Well. His parents did not appear. Neither did anyone else from his pod.

His mother had told him to keep going. To not stop for anything. And so, he continued. His heart racing in his chest, he swam on. He didn’t know how long he was swimming for. The water got shallower and shallower until he blinked and suddenly he could touch the bottom of the sea floor with his little hands.

Ravio’s wide eyes scanned the Surface. There were no monsters with jagged teeth and sharp claws and bulky bodies. No clouds of red. No screaming. The small child lifted his head above the water, holding his breath, and was greeted with the soothing sounds of waves crashing against the shoreline.

The ocean wasn’t safe. Not anymore.

And so, with trembling arms, Ravio pulled himself onto the beach. The sunlight directly on his skin was uncomfortable, and the sand was rough against his scales. He coughed water from his gills and wheezed as burning air entered his lungs. For several minutes, Ravio’s entire body was seething in pain. He desperately gasped for air that hurt to breathe, and his skin burned as it dried.

But once the initial discomfort passed, he felt… numb. Screaming echoed in his ears. The scent of blood lingered in his nose. When he closed his eyes, he saw his father’s desperation. His mother’s sacrifice. He saw them die, over and over again.

Red.

That’s when the tears started anew. And goddesses, when they started, they didn’t stop. His body heaved with sobs, his throat aching and his face slick with tears. He sat and cried for what felt like hours, but even looking back on it, he has no idea how long it truly was. Only that at some point, a curious sound caught his attention.

It was like the click of two rocks coming together underwater, but higher pitched. Melodic. It reminded him of his pod’s songs. And as he looked down to find the source of such a sound, ge was surprised to see a small Surface creature.

Ravio, being a small child, had never seen Shrface creatures before, so he had no way of knowing that what sat beside him was a “bird.” Only that it was tinier than he was and looked just as lost as he did.

He named the bird Sheerow, and he would become Ravio’s closest friend. A companion, a guide, a light in the dark. An anchor to cling to as his world crumbled around him.

They would be inseparable from that point onward.

. . .

Ravio would go on to become quite the figure in Lorule! He was discovered living in the woods by a local blacksmith, who brought him to the castle. (A strange child in the forest? Forests that are overtaken by monsters? Suspicious).

But the king determined that he was no monster, and sent him to live with the blacksmith and his wife. He never ventured back into the ocean- he never had the luxury of soaking in salt water. No, he stayed firmly on the ground where it was safe, even if the blacksmith and his wife could never be his family. He barely ever left their house until he was eleven, and even then he’d only go to the castle and back.

For years, he and Sheerow would frequent the castle, having deemed it one of the few safe places they knew of. They’d make deliveries for the smith, then stay a little longer just to talk to the princess. Hilda would be queen one day, and Ravio knew that she’d do anything to aid her suffering kingdom.

Anything.

Ravio never quite trusted her.

Her eyes were Red.

He was seventeen years old when his distrust for Her Highness was validated. After her father’s death, she rose to the throne and her desperation to help her people became palpable. She’d made a mistake in trusting a vile man named Yuga, and sought to steal another world’s Triforce in order to bring peace back to their own. Ravio, knowing the damage that this would cause to that other world, was against this idea wholeheartedly. And when Princess Hilda decided to go through with her plan, Ravio knew he couldn’t stick around.

He couldn’t stand idly by and witness another massacre.

But he couldn’t fight. No matter how hard he tried, he could not raise a sword against his princess. He couldn’t stomach the sight of an arrow or the sound of a bomb’s fuse. The thought if such violence brought him right back to the ocean, bloody water, screaming from every direction.

In the end, Ravio was too much of a coward to fight on his own. And so, he set out to find someone that could help him. He took all of his supplies and stole a relic from the castle, a bracelet that allowed him to slip into the second dimension and crawl through the cracks between worlds.

He found himself in a land called Hyrule, having emerged from the walls of a sanctuary. And that’s where he found a boy his age garbed in green and unconscious on the ground. Ravio rushed over, and upon determining that he was alive and well, he took him to his own house.

Well… what would have been his house if he had been in Lorule. He’s not in Lorule anymore.

He’s…. A long way from home.

. . .

Some notes!

• Okay I know that my description of that massacre was really bad but Ravio’s memories of that night are EXTREMELY hazy. He was literally five years old. Details are lost, but he remembers that feeling. He still has nightmares about it.

• Whenever Ravio feels unsafe or uncomfortable in any way for any reason, he says “Red.” A topic of conversation that makes him uncomfortable? Red. Just saw something that kind of messed him up (monsters, aggression, etc)? Red. Woke up from a nightmare? Red. This usually lets people that he needs some space/needs comfort. He’s VERY vocal about when he needs a break. We’re proud of him.

• My guy’s so against violence of any kind. He’s NOT a fighter. He’s clever enough that if he finds himself in a dangerous situation, he’s usually able to talk his way out of it. If he’s not able to talk his way out? He has a boyfriend that’s more than happy to do violence.

• Going off of that last point, Ravio goes to Legend for everything. I know I said he’s against violence, but if it’s an actually dangerous situation, Ravio gets Legend immediately. He’s more than happy to provide Legend with the weapons and tools he’d need to win- he’s not about to watch Legend get hurt on his behalf. But Legend’s not about to let anyone mess with Ravio for any reason

• Unless Ravio scammed them

• But he won’t let Ravio get hurt

• Legend’s so gay for him but it’s a big secret shhhhh don’t tell anybody (everybody knows).

• Also Legend’s very protective over him. Ledge has a pretty icy demeanor but the moment Ravio says “Red,” all bets are off. Hugs. Cuddles. No one is allowed to judge him for how soft he gets around Ravio. Also if anyone ever tries to harm him, they will meet the business end of his sword.

• For as protective as Legnd is of Ravio, Ravio is JUST as protective over Legend. Legend is not nearly as… eh, we’ll say emotionally aware as Ravio is. If something upsets him, he doesn’t simply take a step back and say a safe word. Legend is a fighter, and that often means bottling things up until they explode. While Ravio is against fighting, he’s not against confrontation. Even if Legend is too worried about being perceived as weak for telling someone he’s upset, Ravio just seems to… know. And he’s not afraid to tell whoever upset him to back off. Or if he upset him, he’s not afraid to apologize and give him space. If no one in particular has upset Legend (just… hero stuff. Missing Marin. The pressure of saving the world over and over again. Those kinds of things have a way of getting to people), then Ravio is the first to take Legend into his arms and just hold him.

• Ravio is the only person that Legend will let hold him without any complaint. Not even a half hearted attempt to argue. Ravio opens his arms and Legend just falls in and curls up.

• This is sweet and all but they definitely still banter and argue and stuff (mostly lightheartedly). What I said before in this post about Legend calling Ravio his roommate and “little rat” is still true. He likes Ravio but you’re not supposed to just KNOW THAT. He’s! Big scary Hero of Legend!! Untouchable!!! Strong!!! This rat man cannot crack his tough exterior!!! (Ravio calls him Mr. Hero and gives him a cool bracelet one (1) time and he’s head over heels)

• For more information about that war, I made this post a while back!

• I’ll talk about this more in Legend’s origin, but it is FUNDAMENTALLY WRONG for Mer to have to live on land. Like it’s killing them slowly. Especially Ravio, who doesn’t have the opportunity to soak as often as he should and hasn’t been in the ocean since he was five years old. Ravio’s first time back in the ocean happens much later, with Legend. And he’s terrified. He has some… not so great memories, and Legend understands that. Ravio and Legend are both fearful of Aquili and even other Mer soldiers. But honestly? The biggest thing he’s afraid of about going back into the ocean? Is that Sheerow can’t follow him.

• Emotional support bird. More effective than you’d think. Rav and Sheerow are absolutely inseparable.

This is…. Incredibly long. Let me know if you have any questions! I’m happy to talk about my little guys. (Seriously, I think Ravio is my second favorite after Sky).

[charon-cries]

inspired by a recent interaction i had, concerning drawings/art, where "just blood" was referred to as gore and now i have no idea how in touch i am with The People™️

*severed limbs would count under visible muscular tissue/fat/bones because those things are visible when a limb becomes severed

FORGOT TO ADD AN "OTHER" OPTION so the replies/comments are now the "other" option. SORRY!!!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

‘just kill me and be done with it’

Based off an ask by @rochyu ‘where y/n was Aemonds wife (daemon and rhaenyra daughter) was attacked by some guards who had been sent to assassinate him. She was pregnant’ 

Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist  

Warnings: threat of noncon, murder, gore, blood

A/N: I got inspired and wrote this basically in two days, but I am not super happy with it oops. I changed the request a bit because it initially included noncon but I don’t really wanna write that, so changed it slightly, hope that’s ok requester!

It was an abnormally quiet evening in the Keep. You adored moments like these in such a busy environment, after all the hatred and war that had developed between your families. You sat in your usual large armchair, a dress laid in your lap that you were fixing various holes in, eyes squinting to focus on the tiny, fine detailing. 

A small laughter filled the air and you looked ahead to the two little people sat before the fire, the flames illuminating their silver-gold heads. You smile softly at Helaena’s twins, oh how you doted on the two innocent little souls. It was rare that you enjoyed moments like this on twin-watching duty as Helaena was very rarely out of the Keep. But all three of Alicent’s children had gone to retrieve their fourth sibling, Daeron, from Oldtown to join in the war, Alicent having gone with them. Leaving you in the safety of the servants and some of the Kingsguard to protect you.

You and Aemond had been married many years and at the time, it had been to mend the rift between the two sides of your family caused by Luke slicing Aemond’s eye on that fateful night at Driftmark. Back then, you had been used by your parents Rhaenyra and Daemon as a tool to bring the family closer together, as Viserys was alive then, it was paramount to keep up appearances. When you turned ten and seven, the wedding came and when Aemond had cloaked you to bring you under his protection that day, you felt afraid. You did not know what this Aemond was like.

But on that wedding night he insisted on treating you with great care and delicacy, taking every fear you had to heart and promising to fix whatever was broken. The memories of that night, even years later, were the most happy ones you had and all the days and months that came after sought to rival it. For such a man with a reputation even in the Keep, he was sensitive, delicate, caring and most of all loving to his Princess.

Even though you had yet to be blessed with children, it was not for lack of trying, but now as the years passed you began to believe it may be an issue that lies with you. And for this, you felt like you were not a worthy wife. A fact which Aemond denied endlessly. 

He seemed the only person in your life that attempted to lift your spirits, at such a tumultuous time like this. Your parents, of whom you would love unconditionally, were now on the other side of the war and had not attempted to contact you since waging the war for Rhaenyra’s throne. Daemon, on the other hand, would not be so forgiving. Even going as far to refuse the marriage at the time of your betrothal, he was doubly angered that you were married even now. For now, you belonged to the greens and he felt as if he had lost his daughter to them.

Despite Aemond only having left this morning, you felt the ache of loneliness in your heart and sighed out loud. But your quiet evening was interrupted when you jumped out of skin at the doors opening with a mighty slam. Your wide eyes met the door, the twins even looking over in shock. Two men, both the most different in stature, stood at the doorway. Your wide eyes noted their weapons, the larger, burly man carried a sword that you swore was almost the length of you and the other smaller, lanky man carried a dagger. 

You ushered the twins behind you as you stood to attention, swallowing heavily as your eyes met the slumped up body of a Kingsguard on the other side of the door. His body hung across the threshold, eyes wide and blood pooling beneath his body. And at the sight of this, you felt the hairs on your arms stand entirely on end. But the men approached slowly, the larger one with a smile wide on his face.

“There you are” the larger man said, twirling his large sword in his hand. The twins gripped at your dress, whimpering in fear, “We’ve been looking for you”

“Who are you, tell me at once” you ordered, trying to stabilise your voice to get the fear out of your tone. But it simply served to make the larger man laugh once more. The other’s eyes were on the children the entire time, like a vulture trying to sneak a peck at a corpse. 

“Who would have thought our dear Queen had such a sharp tongue”

Queen? You stood confused. And you wracked your brain for a moment. And then it hit. They thought you were Helaena with her twins. You shared the hair and the eyes and Helaena was indeed not here. But with fear deep set in your bones, you were rendered speechless and felt entirely powerless.

Whether it was Helaena or her children they sought to harm, you swore to her you would protect them. All these thoughts buzzing around your fearful mind, you sought to open the secret doorway you and Aemond would often use in the early days of your marriage, a door that could luckily be locked from the inside. 

Running with the twins to the corner of the room, you opened and shoved them inside, using your hurried words, “Dear ones, for the love of your mother, lock this door and do not open it, do you understand me?” you ask them, tears hot behind your eyes as you notice their frightened little faces, begging to cry, begging to be held.

“Please don’t leave us” Jahaera whined, reaching out. You looked behind you to see the two men approach, hastier this time.

“Lock this door and do not come out” 

You slam the door and feel a pang at your chest in relief as you hear them lock it from the inside almost instantly. Your chest heaved with fear and one single tear ran down your cheek as you turned, only to find the larger man had appeared so close to you. With a hand grasped at your throat, tightening more and more he slammed you against the stone wall. Your eyes widened at the force of it, hands coming to attempt to pry his large hand from your neck to no avail, mouth open to say something, but with no air to supply it.

He held you there, a grin on his face, “Sneaky whore”

Your fingers tried to wrap around his, wanting desperately for at least some air to pass into your lungs. The other man spoke,

“Can’t get this damned door open!” he shouted, kicking at it. You closed your eyes, hoping and praying the twins had escaped to another place in the secret doorways, so they didn’t have to hear all this. The man before you grunted in displeasure and without a second thought had released his hold on your throat to deliver a firm, back-handed slap to the face. 

A small yelp escaped you as you fall to the ground. The room span and your vision blurred, but holding your face you looked up to see his sheer perverse glare.

“If we cannot have his first son, we shall have his wife”

The words were supposed to be laced with fear, but at his sheer stupidity to mistake you for Helaena the only thing you could do was smirk and let out a weak laugh. Propping yourself up on an elbow, you spit out,

“Since you’ve fucked up our original plan, tell me this” he spat out, “Where is the Prince Aemond”

“You fools”

His expression instantly changed, and not one for a damaged ego you yelp out again as his hand clamps around your arm to drag you across the room. The familiar prick of fear hits your spine as you realise he’s thrown you to the bed, pinning one of your arms to the mattress below you. He only laughs loudly at your expression and your futile attempt to hit him with the other. But one of his large hands was big enough to capture both of your small ones and you writhed about, wanting to be free from underneath him.

The mention of his name had your face pale, and you begin to tear up with the realisation that he may well find you dead in the morning having been sullied and murdered by these two intruders. If such a thing were to happen, he would be heartbroken. And by the Gods, you would not like to see Aemond when he is driven by revenge and nothing else.  

“Where is the kinslayer, whore” he commands it this time by shouting in your face, you wince at his sudden volume before opening your eyes once more. The silence is palpable and you must know he isn’t a patient man. So you say nothing for a moment, until his hand is in the air, ready to hit you once more.

“Just kill me and be done with it” your words are heavy with hatred.

He merely chuckles and pushes you further up the bed, so your head is below the pillows. He pulls a dagger from his belt and holds it forcefully to your throat, and it is so sharp that you yelp as he leads the point from your chest to your neck as if cutting through butter, the blood spills from the empty cuts down your body and stains your dress.

“Oh we will kill you. But we’d like a bit of fun, first. Since you’re here all on your own, we can make you scream”

You gasped loudly as the man begins to rip your dress, tearing the skirt into a thousand tiny pieces. And you do go to cry out, but feel that familiar sharp pain against your throat and instead choose to stay quiet, attempting to instead use your legs to kick against him as much as you could. Even at this, he is too big to care of your tiny pleas and instead laughs loudly, so much so that his head rolls back.

“Fight all you like”

You screw your eyes shut. If this was actually happening, you did not want to see it.

He rips a sleeve off the dress, exposing your shoulder and he laughs sardonically, releasing your hands for a moment to pull up the skirts of your dress so they are over your hips. You whimper out, bracing yourself until your eyes snap open. That’s it, you thought. Aemond always kept his dagger under his pillow. And with the man above you so focussed on ripping apart your luckily many layers of dress, your hand wanders to the pillow. Silently praying he had not taken it with him.

As the man is about to rip apart your smallclothes, laughing to himself as he did so, your small hand clamps around the handle of the dagger Aemond had left behind and without a second thought, you plunge it to the hilt into his throat. For a moment, you wondered if you had done anything as he just stayed completely still. Pulling the dagger from him, blood spurts from the new wound and all over your dress, completely drenching you from the neck down in his blood.

If you weren’t so hellbent on getting him off you might have gagged at the thought of such a despicable man’s blood being all over you, but right now, you could not have cared less as you pushed his heavy, now lifeless form off you and onto the ground. Standing over him, his blood stained the floor and his eyes vacantly looked over to you, wide-eyed at the prospect of dying. There was a sick sense of pleasure to see such a horrible man die.

Clutching the dagger tightly in your hand still, you moan out in pain as the other, lanky man turned upon you, angered at the death of his friend. Before you could swipe the dagger, he pulled you into a headlock, his own dagger-wielding hand high and intent to push into you. Your hand went out to his arm, stopping his hand. And you knelt there in his tight headlock, hand shaking and pushing his own weapon away from your face. 

Eventually the lack of air began to affect your head and you felt light-headed, vision blurry and the strength put against his hand beginning to falter. Without really thinking, you took the dagger in your other hand and aimed it behind you, hearing a squelch as it was drawn into his stomach. Desperately, you twist it further into him, satisfied it has at least done something. 

Your suspicions are correct when his strength weakens around your neck and behind his hand and confident that he is beginning to falter, you pull the dagger from him and drive in again, and again, and again, until he is barely fighting back. 

His body falls away from you to the ground, but you barely look at him and slump back against the wall, looking ahead at the floor as if dissociated. Blood is dripping across every part of your body, down your neck, against your shoulders, down your legs and it has invaded every particle of your otherwise cream dress, the other parts of it are scattered about the end of the bed. Proof that he had tried to sully you.

And there you sat, hoping and praying that at least the twins were safe somewhere. Your breathing eventually evens out, but the hazy feeling doesn’t leave you and that feeling of searing danger is still there in your bones, even though the two men lay dead on the ground. Still and lifeless. 

You do not hear a member of the Kingsguard arrive and make their may over to you, their hurried speaking of concern all but muffled to you. It is only when they place a hand on your bare shoulder that you wail out, screaming for them to get their hands off you. The tears that were held back the entire time now spilling from your eyes, leaving clear trails against the blood on your neck and chest in fat lines. You felt completely powerless.

“Get away from me!” you screamed, not wanting the touch of anyone, you backed yourself up against the wall further, ordering for him to leave. For a moment, he watched, concerned and wide-eyed before obeying. 

As he left, the doors were left open and servants scurried about as well as Kingsguard, frantically searching for more intruders but finding none. But you simply sat there, staring ahead and letting the tears fall down your face silently. The truths of the last hour hitting you like a train. You could have died. The twins could have died. And Aemond…if he were here…

The thought of Aemond sent a new wave of tears down your face. Would he want you after this?...

The sun had long descended by now and the servants had attempted to approach you, even the female ones, but every single one was chased away by your outbursts, simply wanting to be left alone.

In the dead of night, perhaps even early the next morning, the Green family hastily returned. All three of Alicent’s children escaped the carriage as soon as it arrived. Aegon and Helaena afraid for the safety of their children and Aemond for the safety of his beloved wife. He could feel his heart beating furiously out of his chest and he had wanted to vomit the entire trip home once his mother received a raven on the trip. It was a letter addressed to her only, 

A son for a son.

Lock or no lock, the Queen will be a son short by morning.

Of course, the family had turned around straight away and hurriedly returned home, albeit several hours after the intrusion had actually taken place. The Keep looked as if it had been turned upside down and the worried voices of the three children and Alicent rang out in echoes, halfway between cries and shouting.

A Kingsguard collared Aemond in one hallway, leading him to the entrance of the room where you were still sitting, shaking. And once Aemond saw you at the other side of the room, his heart stilled in his chest with fear and despair. He could see the large, dark colours of blood that stuck to the ground as well as your body, though you were far from his grasp.

As if approaching a terrified animal, his steps were light and he swallowed heavily, crossing the room with such quietness. The bodies had not been taken away, for the fear of upsetting you within the room and Aemond observed them. His heart ached. They were larger men than you, much larger. And how you had been able to put up a fight with them at all was a surprise to everyone.

“Y/n?...” he said quietly, but you did not move. And if not for your laboured breathing and widened eyes, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you were conscious.

He wanted so desperately to reach out and hold you, but the Kingsguard told him you were in a delicate condition and allowed nobody to touch you.

He was so close now, he could see every line of tears that you had made against the dark, crimson blood. His hand reached out to your wrist, barely touching it and you pulled back and screwed your eyes shut.

“No! Please…get away!...” you screamed, immediately shaking with fear, dagger in the other hand raised to strike if needed. 

Aemond held his hands in the air, heart shattering at his wife’s words. 

“Okay…okay…” he cooed soothingly, “...I’m going to stay here, okay?”

No response but a whimper came from you. His eyes raked over you and he felt the desire to clench his fists. Your dress was completely ruined and he noted that your smallclothes had been ripped and discarded to the ground. At this, rage began to boil inside of him.

“Y/n…it’s me…” he started, his voice low and calm, “...Aemond”

Your lids flinched slightly and he had some hope that he was getting through to you. You whimpered again, hand tightening around his dagger.

“I will not come any closer…until you want me to, okay?” he said, “can you open your eyes for me, my love?...”

You took a scattered breath in at the pet name, as if drawing you back to the surface from drowning, eyes opened and looked ahead at him. But mostly in shock and relief. Your mouth was open as if to say something, but you simply sat there, shivering in fright.

“It’s me, my love…your husband…”

Aemond sees the recognition in your eyes and you want to laugh with glee, but all you manage is a smile that is laced with relief but also fear. 

“A-Aemond…” you inhale a breath to let out a cry, “I’m sorry…”

He is on his knees, slowly inching towards you. “Shh..it’s okay…you are safe, okay?” 

You only give him a short and silent nod.

“Now…I’m going to need you to do something for me” he starts, inching a little closer, “...I’m going to need you to drop the dagger, okay?”

Your breath hitches, the fear slowly beginning to ebb away at the sight of your husband.

Your weapon-wielded hand reaches out to your side, watching Aemond the entire time and he seems to let a breath that he didn’t realise he was holding loose when the dagger lands with a rattle against the stone floor. He slowly reached out to take it from near you, placing it in its rightful place at his side now. 

“Now, the maesters need to come in to see y-”

“They didn’t do it” 

Your interruption stops Aemond in his tracks and he kneels to listen to you as you tearfully relay, finally, what had happened.

“They didn’t…” you say, hesitant to say the word, “...they didn’t manage to…”

You can see the relief on Aemond’s face as he understands what you mean, his eye closes, not tightly. 

“I had to keep them safe…” you say, referring to the twins.

Aemond nods, a ghost of a smile on his face, “Yes…yes, you did brilliantly, my love. The twins are safe…”

Almost too quickly, you are launching yourself into Aemond’s awaiting arms, head firmly against his chest. There are no more tears left in you, so you simply revel in his warm arms around you, hugging you tightly. He felt the hot tears prick at his eye at your sudden change of mood for the better and he himself sank into this feeling, not caring of the blood that was getting all over him.

“Aemond…I s-swear…they didn’t…” you looked up at him, your sobs making your voice waver, fearing your reputation if anything else.

He cradled your face with one large hand, wiping the tears away, “Shh…my love, I believe you…”

He stroked your hair lovingly and you seemed to calm down.

“The maesters would like to take a look at you…you do not have to do anything more than necessary-”

“No” you shook your head, knowing that the maesters would want to inspect intimately. But, you thought, it was best to quell any rumours right away, “I will…” you answer, voice still wavered but more sure now.

Aemond had been with you the entire time, holding your hand tightly as the maesters performed their examinations. Some were trivial and easy, others more intimate in the face of the near tragedy that had occurred. And while one maester began to clean the wound on your throat, the other approached Aemond, as your husband, to deliver his diagnosis.

“There is no trauma to her intimately, you will be happy to know” the maester began. Aemond nodded and looked over at you as the other cleaned your wounds and the blood from you. Of course, he had known that already. He believed the truth that you had told him.

“She will have some scars, but it will be difficult to tell how the experience has affected the baby for some time”

Aemond nodded, but hesitated at the word ‘baby’, a spark sent through him. Almost at the same time, you whipped your head up and looked toward the other maester in confusion.

“Baby…?” you ask quietly. The maester turns to you, nodding.

“Of course, Princess. When was the last you bled?”

Your eyes met the floor in thought, “But I bled two moons ag-oh” the realisation dawned on you. And your eyes met Aemond’s, but he was just as shocked as you.

“For certain?” you ask.

“Oh yes” the maester responded, as if it were obvious.

Rather uncharacteristically, Aemond rushed to you and pulled you into his arms, one hand stroking your hair while the other stroked your back. You melted into his embrace, for the first time in hours, feeling as if some luck had been bestowed onto you. Had the gods determined you a worthy wife? Finally.

“Oh my little fighter…” Aemond murmured into you. He shuts his eye forcefully to blink away a tear, with the knowledge he has now that he could very well have lost more than just his wife this night.

For the first time in hours, you cried with happiness, tightening your arms around your husband as the tears fell down your face.

But the fear lingered and you had remembered how fragile life itself had been in the last day, so when Aemond pulls away and sees your face, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ears and leans down, “What is it, my love?”

You look up at him, the emotions fighting in your head, “Aemond…” your mouth is open trying to find the words, “I am happy…of course…but I am also afraid”

He cups your face lovingly, “I know my love…I know” 

As he brings you in for another embrace, he knows that no words right now can quell that fear you have after the traumatic experience you just went through. You felt vulnerable, like prey and Aemond promised himself he would do whatever it takes to make you feel safe. Even if it meant staying by your side for as long as you needed him. 

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard - Chapter 9: Longing

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: mentions of death/gore* & the smut we’ve all been waiting for 🖤

word count: 6.7k

The clouds dance and whirl overhead, bringing with them a wind so sharp you think it might cut right through the heavy cloak, all the way down to your skin- maybe even deeper than that.

“Storm’s moving fast..” You say, more to yourself than anything, but Simon hums out an agreement anyway, casting his eyes upward with a squint,

“C’mon, there’s a village not too much further-”

Tugging at your hood, you begrudgingly squeeze your chaffed and aching thighs in order to urge the mare forward. Never in your life had you ridden for so long at one time- over the span of a week, you’ve hardly gotten off the beast unless it’s to relieve yourself or when it’s time to set up camp; and your very spoiled and sheltered life is proving to be a great disadvantage at the moment.

“Sore?”

His question confuses you, your cheeks beginning to burn, though the heat has nothing to do with your wind-chapped skin,

“From the saddle, love..” You can’t help but to roll your eyes at the amusement in his tone, turning into your cowl even further, only to gasp when you feel his hands around your waist-

In quick succession he had gotten close enough to you on his own horse to reach across the short expanse and pull you over, settling you side saddle between his legs, “Simon!”

But, it seems he quite enjoys your disgruntled fussing, “Is this all right?”, he asks, “If not, I’ll put you back-”

“No.. no.” You give in quickly, too enamored by the heat of his body against yours, his delightful warmth leaching into you, and the way your legs and pelvis scream at you to stay. Stay here in this very unbecoming position, one of his arms wrapped snugly over your hips, fingers loosely holding the reins, as the other works to tether your horse to his,

“It takes some gettin’ used to.” Simon coos, holding you closer, “But, you’ve done so well..”

His praise makes your skin feel like it could be on fire, and the steady rocking motion of the horse’s gate does nothing to help- well, except for the tiny splashes of the first rain drops beginning to fall.

And by the time you reach the small square, you’re both thoroughly soaked. Your cloak and petticoat feel ten pounds heavier, sticking to Simon’s jacket as he helps lower you down to the muck and mud before dismounting himself.

The village is quaint, deserted due to the conditions, but it still manages to feel cozy somehow- with candles and lanterns flickering in almost every window, there’s a warmth to it that strikes you differently than you’re so used to. And the closer you get to the inn, the sounds of raucous laughter and amused banter bleed through the foggy windows and from under the solid door.

With Simon’s hand hovering against your lower back, he opens the door and you both shuffle inside. The air is thick with a lazy sort of heat, your nostrils immediately filled with the hearty scents of herbs and fatty meats slowly cooking. You’re grateful for all the noise then, grateful it hides the way your stomach rumbles and growls, excited for a meal that isn’t foraged berries, stale bread, and whatever small game Simon had hunted along the way-

“This way..” Simon guides you through the open area, firmly polite in the way he excuses some of the more rowdy patrons- and it strikes you then, oddly and out of place almost, that none of these people give you a second look. Sure, some of their gazes linger, half-lidded and plied with honeyed mead, at the strangers making their way to an empty table in the corner; but as soon as the next distraction comes, you’re easily forgotten.

An older woman sweeps by with two pint glasses frothing with amber liquid, “Travelers, eh? Been pishin’ a doon out there, I tell ya.”

“Aye, it has-”, you respond with a small chuckle, ordering two of whatever that delightful smell originates from when the matron asks.

“Do you have a room open for the night?”

“Tsch- o’course. Always a room open for a native lass, like y’rself.” She graces you with a warm smile, one that reminds you so much of your own mother it hurts, patting your shoulder before giving a.. less than welcoming glare to the man sitting across from you as she flits away with a hmpf.

You unpin your cloak, tugging it from around your shoulders- a bloom of heat coloring your cheeks when you lock eyes with Simon, a sly grin just barely tugging at the corner of his lips,

“What?”

His head tilts just enough to catch a bit of light from the hearth, casting his features in a deep, handsome glow as he studies you without saying a word. Those damned eyes finally thawing at the sight of your mess of hair still damp, and cheeks stained pink, the way you try to hold his gaze but always end up looking away- pretending to be interested in the wood grain of the table under your hands,

“It’s nice.. Seein’ you like this.”

Nice? You roll the word over your tongue a few times, unsure of what exactly nice entails- but your pondering is very quickly snuffed out by the sound of your name being spoken. They aren’t speaking to you, no, thank the gods, but the more you turn your ear towards the group, the tighter your chest feels-

“May the gods rest ‘er soul..” One man says, lifting his glass in the air, the others following suit in the impromptu eulogy.

“Aye.. Gods rest.”

“A right Scottish Queen on the throne- married off tae tha’ bastard. Now look at ‘er.. Butchered and they say they ne’er found ‘er heid.. A goddamn shame-”

“I heard the King’s heid was sat on the mantle- crown on and all.” Another one offers, staring vacantly into his cup before coming back to the present, “Bodies burnt to a crisp.”

You grit your teeth, images of their gossip wracking through your mind and body; the raw, visceral reaction unstoppable as a bone deep shiver quakes through you. Simon’s hand covers yours, squeezing just enough to draw your eyes back to him-

“‘Ere we are.” Two steaming plates are sat in front of you, roasted pheasant and a healthy portion of potatoes and boiled leafy greens, “‘S a shame, ain’t it?”

She glances back at the table of men, “I dinnae normally like to give in tae the rumors, but-”, her voice takes on a morose lilt, her hands buried deep in her apron, “it’s jus’ so heartbreakin’’. And to think it were her guard! Of all people..”

You really think you could be sick before you’ve even got a bite of your food down, the smell that had enticed you so, now feels too heavy in your nostrils, too rich and fatty, too thick-

“It is.” Simon interjects, tapping the heavy ring around his thumb against the table in that comforting pattern, “Gods rest-”

The woman sniffles, nodding her head before pulling a handkerchief that’s been tucked in her bosom, “Aye, gods rest. Ye two enjoy, lemme ken if ye need anythin’ at’all.”

With a nod and tight lipped smiles, she bustles away, the weather bringing more people into the small tavern than you think is usual. And within the hour, the room quickly shrinks to barely allow for standing space. The already warm air becoming near stifling the longer you sit, pushing bits of leftovers around the wooden plate,

“C’mon, love.” Simon stands, holding his hand out to you- “Let’s get some rest.”

You know he’s right, you know you have another full day of traveling tomorrow- which causes the ache in your bottom and thighs to rear its ugly head yet again. But you feel so utterly restless. The men’s words, long forgotten by them, have not left your mind. They bounce around relentlessly, conjuring awful images and memories- things you cannot forget.

But you let him take your hand, let his warmth anchor you, his steady hold guide you through the crowd and toward the small staircase that takes you both up and up. The air seems to cool step by step, a little easier to breathe the further you get from the noise.

Yet, the closer you get to the room, the more your thoughts seem dead set on casting you into the void entirely. You feel too warm and too cold at the same time, your body and mind unable to escape the vicious fight or flight cycle-

What have you done? What do you truly know of this man? What if he- could he be? Could your Simon be anything like the King? Maybe not right now, but what if- what if- what if-

“Your thoughts are loud tonight, little queen..”

It’s only at the sound of his voice that you notice you now stand in the middle of a spacious bedroom. One with a large bed that commands the space, a wardrobe stood in one corner and a gloriously deep bathtub sat opposite- and sure, you had shared a bed with Simon before, you had clung to him in the middle of forests, with only a thin sheet of canvas between you and the unforgiving wilderness.

But this.. Very suddenly, you’re confronted with the intimacy of the space you share now. Of the single bed, a bed untainted by the memory of another man, of him- you study the crackling fire, and the torrential rains still pelting against the fogged up window panes. Your eyes on anything other than the man that watches you so ardently.

“Was this..” – you suck in a shaking breath, meeting those beautiful amber eyes, the ones that seem to burn brighter than the flames in the hearth, “Did we-”

Oh, such a way with words you have- gods, just get it together.

He tilts his head, “Did we do the right thing?”, with a single step, he’s right in front of you, “Depends on who you ask. Though, I believe your people would say yes..”

“I hate that they think that you- that you would-“

“Kill you?”

Tears sting your eyes then, flooded by everything that happened that night- the poor woman’s body that had been stolen from the infirmary, the fire and blood, the way the King’s crown sparkled on his head as it sat on the mantle. All the horrendous acts that Johnny and Simon committed, for you.

Oh, perhaps Johnny was right all along, you are just a stupid, selfish girl-

“I should be dead, shouldn’t I?” You admit, turning away from him, “At least that way, you and Johnny, you could’ve had your lives- you would not be out here, in the middle of nowhere, helping me escape mine, at the cost of your own. I should be-”

“Don’t.” Simon’s grip on your arm isn’t forceful, it’s not painful or demanding, but you can feel the urgency, see the anguish in his eyes, hear the agony in his voice, “Please.. Don’t say those things.”

He takes up your field of view, holding your face between his hands before pulling away with a huff,

“Don’t you understand? I would do it all again, I would do it a hundred times. Because before you.. I-” – he stops mid-pace, raking a hand through his hair, “I had no life, none beyond a battlefield. My life has only ever been death. My hands..”

You watch him look at his own appendages as though he wishes to remove them completely, “My hands have rarely known or given a kind touch, they are tarnished and unworthy-”

“Simon, no-”

It’s you who reaches for him this time, taking his hands in yours- your lips pressed against the rough skin without a second thought. You kiss them slowly, softly, over and over, listening to each unsteady breath that rattles through his chest,

“I do not know the hands you speak of..” You whisper, looking up at him, “I only know the hands that have saved me, that have held me- hands that have only ever been kind and gentle.”

And to see him now, see every raw edge of him- you feel silly for ever thinking he could be anything like your late husband. That he would ever bring a hand to you that was meant to incite fear and pain, or turn his voice into a weapon to degrade and belittle you.

No, Simon had shown you his heart- openly, tenderly. He had allowed you to see him, pried open his chest and let you settle yourself there, in a space he has never allowed anyone before.

“But you’ve seen what they were made to do. Seen them bloody-” He shakes his head, letting it fall, eyes clenching shut, “I told you before that I am not a good man. The things I have done cannot be atoned for.”

Your hands move cautiously, blazing a slow path from his wrists over his forearms, the cords of muscle twitching and flexing under your palms until you reach high enough to cup his jaw. He doesn’t look at you right away, choosing to lean into the cool touch of your palm before speaking again,

“I’m afraid-” – he whispers, and you can see it in his eyes when he finally opens them, see the terror, the longing, these feelings so obviously and painfully foreign to him, “- that one day.. I will kill you. That I will bring Death right to our doorstep, and he will take you, just as he’s taken all others from me.”

His words feel like fire and frost in your veins. Never would you have thought Simon, your Simon, your steadfast protector- your lover - to harbor such a thing as fear. Much less, a fear of losing you, a fear so great it seems like it could bring the Titan of a man to his knees.

And yet, it’s that fear that fortifies you. If he can be so relentlessly strong for you in times when you thought you were shattering, then you can be that for him- because what is love, if not picking up each other’s pieces when they cannot?

Love was never meant to be only beauty and light, love is disturbing and messy; it is brutal in its hold and unfair in its unpredictability. You cannot choose who you love, not really. There are strings of fate that bind you- how else can something so dark and so wonderful dare make sense?

A sad smile pulls at your lips as you look up at him, thumb brushing back and forth through the stubble on his cheek, “Simon.. If Death should come for me, I will take his hand in mine- and with my other, I’ll hold yours, so that I might find you in every lifetime after.”

The breath that leaves him sounds like it might as well have been punched from his lungs, labored and groaning. But, in the next second you’re being pulled forward- leaning up onto your toes as he captures your lips in a desperate kiss, his arm snaking around your waist as you crash into him with all the grace of a newborn fawn.

But he doesn’t let you fall, he couldn’t dream of such a thing- no, he holds you closer, the span of his fingers covering your lower back, his immense warmth radiating even through the thick fabric of your dress-

“Wait, My Queen.. Wait-”

You feel how he braces himself, forcing his hands to gently push you just far enough away that you couldn’t reach his lips, “Simon-”

Tears well up at the very corners of your eyes, out of frustration or sheer petulance, you’re not sure. It’s just.. your body feels wound too tight, and your mind is so lost in its own haze of desire and longing that you can’t control the way your bottom lip quivers-

“Oh, sweet girl-” Simon presses a kiss to your pitiful pout first before holding your face up so that he could kiss your tears next, “Do you trust me?”

You nod against him, your hands still tightly tangled in the loose material of his tunic, “Yes, but-”

Another kiss causes your complaint to be forgotten at the back of your tongue, overtaken by the taste of his mouth on yours- and the subsequent throbbing deep in your core. Your body truly and utterly aches for him.

He sweeps you out of the room despite your small protests, leaving youstill unsure of what exactly his plan is, or why he insists on denying you and himself for even a moment longer. But you stay, standing by a large bay window, watching how the rain carves chaotic little paths down the glass, and catching glimpses of your reflection when the candlelight flickers just right.

You look properly disheveled. Tendrils of hair frame your dirt stained cheeks, your eyes slightly hollow from the nightmares that have plagued your sleep, lips chapped and raw from the wind, and Simon’s kisses-

Slowly, you untangle your braids, vainly attempting to rake your fingers through some of the mess when you hear boots ascending.

A man you don’t recognize appears first, followed by a much taller, much more familiar form just behind. They both carry a large basin in each hand, the water inside fragrant and steaming as they make their way inside, dumping the pails into the deep copper tub-

There's a small grin on Simon’s lips when he passes by, the men repeating the same act twice more before you watch them shake hands- the taller man slipping a few pieces of silver to the other in thanks,

“A bath?” You look up at him with wide eyes, unable to hide your excitement after weeks of bathing in frigid rivers and streams.

“Mh..” – he hums, moving to hold you again, those long fingers trailing up the laces of your bodice, “You deserve comfort, so, while I can give that to you, I will. And one day.. I’ll draw a bath for you whenever you’d like.”

As he speaks, his voice takes on a softer edge, dipping his head down to nuzzle against the skin of your neck. He lavishes the flesh with kiss after kiss all while his hands work to loosen every lace, methodically pulling until you can feel the ties give way enough to take a deep, shuddering breath-

“Is this ok, My Queen?” Simon asks, pulling back to search your face for any sign of discomfort.

It tugs at your heart in ways you didn’t think possible. Because the King had never asked, he never cared what was ok or not- and you didn’t know any better anyway.

But Simon waits, he waits to hear the soft ‘yes’, waits for even a second longer just to memorize the way your eyes sparkle for him- beautiful and bright. And with the same tender movements, he pulls the dress from your shoulders, easing the fabric down your arms, every prolonged graze of his fingertips leaving a wake of goosebumps.

You’ve never been completely bare to a man before- even your husband had never seen all of you at once, never taking the time to bother with undressing you when he could just hike your nightgown up.

What if he doesn’t find you appealing when he sees you so exposed? What if he thinks the stretch marks on your thighs are ugly? Or maybe the size of your hips and the fatty flesh that covers them- the King always made sure to remind you of how unsightly those parts of you were.

What if he doesn’t like how your stomach squishes and jiggles-

“Look at me.”

You hadn’t even noticed that your eyes were focused on the floor, cast down in shame when your gown pooled around your ankles. And you really should’ve known that one look at the man in front of you would take all your insecurities and wash them away, because to him, he’s never seen a woman so perfect.

Simon’s never seen skin as soft and unblemished as yours- and he finds himself wanting to kiss and mark every single inch of you, make you his and only his.

Instead, he tilts your chin up, relishing the sight of your swollen lips parting just so, like you, too, couldn’t get enough of him. No one’s ever looked at him that way, like he were something to be coveted and desired.

“You’re beautiful.”

That’s all he gives you before wrapping you in his arms, sealing his lips over yours- and this time when you pull at his belt, he lets you. He lets you loosen it around his hips, lets your hands wander, fingers skimming over the feverish skin of his torso. He helps you by tugging the tunic over his head, blessing you with the glorious sight of him; his muscles, and scars, and freckles, and moles- every stunning imperfection that has shaped him.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room just before the rattling boom of thunder, as if Mother Nature herself were as enthralled with this moment as you were-

“C’mere..” Simon takes your hand, offering a steadying hold for you to step into the bathtub, “‘S too hot?”

The water stings for only a moment on your legs, but you pay the slight discomfort no mind, lowering the rest of your body into the bath with a sigh,

“No, it’s perfect.” You say, looking up at him with a gracious smile, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything more, opting to push his trousers over his hips and legs- and you know you’ve felt him, felt his length pressing into you through his pants, seen the outline of him straining against the fabric.

But this- you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, aware that your staring is entirely unladylike, but unable to find it in yourself to really care. How could you? When you’ve imagined his cock many a night as you touched yourself to merely the thought of him, to the idea of how good you just knew he could make you feel.

And now, here he is, naked as the day the he was born, towering over you, built like he was carved from the gods of war themselves-

The water sloshes when he steps one foot in, then the other, sitting opposite of you- one leg stretched out against yours and the other propped up so that his knee breaches the surface,

“I’ve never done this.” You admit, cheeks flushed a bright pink from the heat of the water, but mostly from the way he stretches his arms out over the rounded edges of the tub, the way his head tilts lazily to the side,

“Can’t say I have, either.”

You stay like that, watching him until he leans over, plucking a sponge from the small table, “May I?”

Well, how does he ever expect you to refuse when he looks at you like…that.

With a small nod, he inches himself forward, maneuvering your legs to rest atop his, your bodies precariously close again- and with not a thing but the water separating you from him. You avoid looking down, keeping your eyes focused instead on the myriad of scars that litter his broad chest- you watch the bulging muscles move under the skin as he washes you.

He starts with your hands, his eyes glued to you, reverently studying each part as he goes- cleansing you of dirt and grime, “What are you thinking, little queen?”

“That your self-control is admirable.” You respond without thought- the flesh he touches warming even more so when a he bellows a genuine laugh-

“It’s no easy feat. I assure you.”

When his fingers brush against your sensitive inner thigh, a traitorous moan escapes you, one that causes him to tense. And you think even with the hot, slippery water around you- the slick between your legs becomes more apparent, your thighs clenching on their own and your head rolling back,

“Simon..”

Hearing his name uttered as little more than a whimper makes him dizzy, large hand clamping over your thigh like it might steady him- his want for you reaching a peak he had never quite felt before,

“Careful, love..” He growls.

But it’s too late, because you cling to that tiny fault in his control, the wanton, lecherous parts of you gnashing and gnawing their way to the surface. A streak of confidence, or outright arrogance, guiding you to pull the sponge from between his fingers,

“May I?” You coo, repeating his own kind gesture, but you would be lying if you said you had nearly as pure intentions-

He nods, and you begin to mimic his movements- scrubbing his hands, and arms, letting yours linger and softly grope as you go. Every minute or so, you find yourself glancing at his face, seeing his brows knitted together, eyes steeled and unblinking as he watches you clean him- a queen, washing his skin, his queen, bathing him. His cock twitches and swells painfully at the thought-

“Has anyone ever called you beautiful?” You splay your small palm over his thigh, again forcing your eyes to stay away from the water, away from.. Well, away from gawking at his how his length only seems to grow bigger with your efforts.

A sharp laugh fills your ears, his dimples sinking in as he clamps his bottom lip between his teeth, “No.”

You do meet his eyes then, scooting forward so that your thighs are now settled over his, practically straddling his lap, “Well, you are. You look like those statues of the gods.. Like art.”

The sponge slips from your hand when you’re jerked forward, big hands spread out over the fleshy globes of your ass, his fingers kneading into the fat and muscle with a satisfied groan- followed in quick succession by your breathy little whine from the feel of his hardness pressed against your cunt.

Lips and teeth and tongues collide, your body rolling and writhing above his, hips eager to find that delicious friction again-

He moans when you tug your fingers through his hair, thrusting up hard enough to cause water to go splashing and spilling onto the floor below. But neither of you stop, neither of you wanting to fight that burning, deep-seated desire for a moment longer,

“I need you.. Simon- I need you.” You pant, swiping your tongue over his, “Please.”

Without pause, the giant man stands, your legs and arms flailing to stay firmly wrapped around him; even if you know that his hold on you is ironclad, the motion is so abrupt you can’t help the fleeting fear of being dropped. Or worse, either or both of you falling-

But he moves with that effortless confidence he’s so good at, stepping out of the tub, water dripping and puddling on the floor until you’re being nestled safely into the feather down mattress- skin prickling at the cold sheets beneath.

Thankfully, his hands and mouth make quick work in warming you.

“You can stop me-” Simon says, kissing over your jaw and down your neck, “All right? You say the word, and I’ll stop. We don’t- mh- don’t have to do this.”

You tilt your hips up, straining to wrap your legs around his waist, “I want to. I want you..”

He moves to hover over you, those damned eyes picking you apart layer by layer, almost begging for a reason to remove himself- not because he doesn’t want you just as badly, but because he still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that you want him.

Simon has been with women, out of need and lust, sure. And while you are not the first person he’s been with, when you look up at him like that, with those big eyes, and that sweet smirk, he vows to himself then, that you will be his last.

“You already have me, sweet girl..”

Too quickly, he pushes away, your lips chasing after him until you see exactly where he’s headed-

“Wha- oh..”

A warm chuckle fans out over your tummy, “Just need a taste, sweetheart.” – he says, like it were the most normal thing in the world.

The thing is, you’ve never actually had someone do that. You’ve only read about it, heard stories from your handmaids-

Dreamed of it..

The memory of your heat-induced fantasy flashes before your eyes- only then, you didn’t even have a face to fantasize of, but now..

Well now, the vision of Simon’s face settled between your thighs is enough to make your head swoon. Feeling the dark hair in your hands, his breath against your center- that alone is enough to make your back arch off the bed,

“Feelin’ needy, little queen?”

You scoff, the gripe on the tip of your tongue forgotten at the feeling of his thick tongue dragging through your folds- the sensation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, hot and wet, firm and soft. You cry out, gripping his head tighter, your legs attempting to squeeze shut until he pries you open again,

“Mm-mm..” Simon groans into you, “Don’t hide..”

With another sharp gasp, your head rolls back into the pillows as he latches onto your clit- the swollen bud already entirely too sensitive. And when he circles your entrance with a rough finger, it’s almost enough to take you over the edge right then, feeling the blissful stretch of his digit, and then two- it’s enough, more than enough, and yet, nowhere near enough.

“Mmh- Oh gods..” You moan, using both hands now to guide him, “Right there- right th-there.”

It’s as if you’ve thrown oil onto fire the way he ravishes you, lapping and suckling until you’re nothing more than a trembling, whiny mess beneath him- your body tensing and curling as the orgasm burns through you hard and fast, his name on your lips and yours on his-

“My good girl- fuckin’ hell.. That’s it.”

He praises you, pacing his ministrations to draw out your pleasure until every fiber of your being feels like you’re floating above the heavens.

You’ve reached your finish before, but never so.. intensely; and never at the hands, or mouth of another.

And to have it now, from a man you’ve wanted for so long.. You know you shouldn't uphold him as an idol, as a being deserving of prayer.

No, that is a blasphemous act.

But you do.

“I’ve dreamt of havin’ you on my tongue..”, he drawls, not bothering to wipe your slick from his lips before kissing you- shoving his tongue forward like he wants you to taste yourself, “Of tasting a queen, My Queen.”

A soft hum bubbles out of you, spreading your thighs for him again, and keening at the weight of his cock as it settles over your slit-

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon..” Is all you can manage to say, reaching between your body and his, no longer slickened by water, but instead glimmering with a sheen of sweat. You wrap your hand around him, another soft whine parting your lips at the way his length jerks at your touch.

Simon nuzzles into your neck, “Aren’t you? Shall I give you my vows again, then?” – his words are muffled by your flesh, his lips warm and wet, “Vow to defend you..”

Kiss.

“To obey you-”

Another kiss.

“To give my life for yours-”

Before he can punctuate the next vow with a kiss, he leans up to cradle your face in his hand, “But.. I suppose I am not fit to be your guard anymore..”

Your brows pull together, “And why is that, Ser Simon?”

His hand settles at your hip, gliding up your thigh to hitch it a bit higher on his waist- the other still cupping your jaw, “Because I cannot promise you to never wed..” – he says, molten amber eyes piercing into you, “I cannot promise to never take land- cannot vow to father no children..”

You don’t need the answer, you know it, but it doesn’t stop you from whispering, “Why?”

Simon’s dimpled smile gives you comfort, the calloused pad of his thumb softly grazing over your cheek, “Well.. if you asked me for those things, I wouldn’t think twice about giving them to you.”

Once more, you’re stunned by the simplicity in which he says it- like he weren’t proposing a life with you. Like he didn’t just admit to wanting more with you, wanting everything with you.

“The thought of you havin’ my name..” – he grinds down as if to prove his point, that the idea of you taking his name is more than enough to turn him on, “Of givin’ you land, buildin’ a home with you.. Children, if you want them.”

Your legs clench around him, not entirely of your own free will. It’s just the things he’s saying, and that fucking voice- it will surely be your downfall. But, if this is falling, you don’t mind how sinfully good it feels.

“Mm..” You hum, leaning up to claim his lips, “In that case, I permanently relieve you of your duty, good Ser.”

You feel his grin, but in the next breath, you also feel that burning sense of urgency return to his movements- hands scorching flesh, lips offering only a temporary reprieve, and it’s all so perfect.

Simon leans up one more time, another question in his eyes as he covers your hand on his cock. You don’t give him the chance to ask though, quieting his thoughts by reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck, voice hardly a whisper,

“I love you, Simon.”

His eyes widen, pupils already blown into thick, inky voids- and for only a second, you worry you’ve said too much, too soon. That he will pull away from you for good, but that notion is lost when he presses forward, his plump tip pushing into you, slowly, inch by mouth-watering inch, while he watches you like it’s the last thing he might ever do.

He watches your lips part into the prettiest shape around your gasp, watches your eyebrows scrunch together, your fingers tightening in his hair-

And fuck, you knew you were shamefully wet for him, but the lewd sound your cunt makes when he sinks into you makes your cheeks bloom a deep red, eyes fighting to stay open, to stay on him. But you feel so full. The stretch of taking his girth so new that it stings, but the pain only seems to make the pleasure multiply. It makes no sense, but you suppose nothing ever really has with him.

It’s when he’s fully seated inside you, arms now propped on either side of your head, sweat beading on his skin that he gives you, and himself, just a moment to adjust. He peppers your lips and cheeks and neck with kisses, swallowing your sweet moans before moving again- languidly drawing back, and pushing in just as slow.

There’s nothing quick about the way he ruins you, he takes his time, wanting you to feel every single moment- wanting to watch the pleasure etch itself into your features, the pleasure he gives you. Deliberately and thoroughly.

Time could have ceased to exist in this moment. You wouldn’t know, you wouldn’t care. Because you can only feel the way he consumes you, your mind and body, spirit and soul, he can have it. Just as he told you that he was yours on that balcony what feels like a lifetime ago now, you knew that you were just as much his.

So, yes, he could take whatever he wanted- it had belonged to him from the start.

Simon Riley is the man fate bound to you.

Just as the familiar pressure blooms once more low in your belly, you feel his fingers lace with yours, his free hand wandering between your bodies, “You feel like a dream, sweet girl.. Better than dreams-”

He groans when your walls flutter and tense around him, his fingers working gentle circles over your clit, the flesh of his hips smacking against yours with every bone-deep thrust. And you knew it would only be a matter of seconds if he keeps up like this, so before you’re lost to the bliss yet again, you pull his head down, licking and nipping at his bottom lip,

“Simon– mmh-”

Your body trembles right before its release, your orgasm somehow deeper, more spectacularly bright than the first. It rings in your ears, only made better by Simon’s own guttural moans growing higher, more desperate- his panting breaths mix with yours, your name spilling out over and over. His rhythm is indiscernible now as he chases his end, your slick and his prespend glistening over your thighs and the thick curls at the base of his cock.

And you really didn’t think it was possible that you could be more enamored or entranced by him than you already are, but seeing him above you- seeing every trace of that unshakable stoicism melt away, leaving just Simon behind.

Leaving just a man, not a knight or a queen’s guard, not a killer, nor a ghost. Just a man who has seen too much of the world, been hurt by it, lived too many lives isolated in his self-made fortress.

You see a boy who was forced to become a man far too soon. A boy who never got the luxury of feeling the sunlight on his face, or a warm breeze on his skin that wasn’t accompanied by guilt or pain. You see his story written in scars, from burns and blades, arrows and spears-

Yet, he is beautiful.

With a final string of grunts, he bullies his cock so deep inside your channel, you can’t help the shrill little squeak you give at the feeling. Pain and pleasure collide as you hug him as tight and close as you both can manage- chests slippery and heaving, the room falling into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of your breaths.

“Did I hurt you?” He whispers, either unable or unwilling to lift his face from where it lays on your chest, shaking fingers absently tracing over your palm.

“No, not in ways I didn’t enjoy.” You hide your face in his hair, pressing a long kiss to the sweat-dampened locks.

A chuckle floats over your skin, his lips chasing the chills before looking up at you-

“I- I don’t know.. love, My Queen. I’ve read of it, though I can’t say I’ve actually seen it. I wouldn’t know what to look for, or recognize what it feels like. But-” – you give a warm smile, silently praying that one day soon, he might tell you his story.

But, for now, you understand.

“I do not need to hear it.. And perhaps, I don’t know much about the feeling either. But, you feel like the fairytales I grew up reading.”

This time, the chuckle grows into rich laughter, his fingers gently tickling your sides to pull a sweet laugh from you, too,

“Fuck’s sake, little queen. Tellin’ a man he feels like a fairytale.”

You squirm under him with another bout of giggles, “You know what I meant!” – you swat at his arm, groaning suddenly when you feel his cock sink a bit further inside you, his seed dribbling onto the sheets,

“I know happy endings are for children’s stories, but.. the way they speak of love..” —you trail off, looking up at the ceiling for something more poetic, something you might find in one of your books. But you don’t think Simon is man of great proclamations or fancy words-

So, you settle on meeting his gaze, voice soft, “Well, I love you, Simon Riley.”

He leans up to kiss you, slow and deep, “Say it again.”

“I love you, Simon.”

taglist: @spxctorsslxt @ssc7514

[bettyfrommars]

Season of the Witch

by @allthingsjoeq & @bettyfrommars

steddie x reader

Blair Witch Project au

Warnings: 18+ONLY, found footage horror, hurt/no comfort, fem!reader who is just a friend, no Vecna, angst, lost in the woods, mentions of witchcraft, paranormal happenings, things that go bump in the night, fear of being stalked, allusions to gore and MCD.  Dead dove do not eat. wc: 13k

If you are familiar with the film The Blair Witch Project, you know some of what to expect. This is a horror fic; it will be scary and unsettling at times, so please take caution if the genre makes you uncomfortable. 

Summary: Three friends find themselves in a small town in Maryland, the home of the Blair Witch, in order for Steve Harrington to film a documentary for his semester project.  In tow are his boyfriend, Eddie Munson, and you, a friend he invited along to be his trusty cameraperson.  Once you are too deep in the woods to find your way back, the myths surrounding the lore of the land begin to take shape, and you realize you might never make it out of there alive.

Much love to @allthingsjoeq for all of the blood, sweat, and tears that went into this, and also for calling it "a Marmite fic". We hope you enjoy this contribution to the October festivities! Much love.

Burkittsville Cemetery, Maryland

“Here we are,” Steve Harrington can’t contain the glimmer of wonder in his eyes, behind wire-rimmed spectacles, as he parks near the overgrown site of the cemetery.  

You look up from fiddling with the camera in the back seat as the tires crunch to a halt, already thinking of where the best spot to get a shot of Steve would be for the documentary he’s working on.  You aren’t as familiar with filming as you should be for being his main cameraperson, but you and Steve had become close friends very quickly, and he practically insisted you be a part of it. 

He was especially fascinated with the town you grew up in called Burkittsville in Maryland.  You knew about Steve’s obsession with the paranormal, and the legends that surrounded certain locations, so you told him about your hometown legend—the Blair Witch. You hadn’t been back since you were a kid, but you watched his face light up when you talked about the lore, and all of the possibilities for filming. 

Although Steve had his camera crew of one sorted, he would and could never travel without his partner in crime and in love, Eddie Munson. The metalhead stands now looking out over the cemetery with his black and white flannel over a Bark at the Moon Ozzy Osbourne concert tee, and his hair tied back in a bandana, being the supportive boyfriend. He clamps a hand on Steve’s shoulder to give it a squeeze. “You got this, big boy. Let’s rock ‘n roll.”

Tall grass yields underfoot as you all make your way around the space, bending down to try and read the crumbling grave markers.  

There is a staggering amount of tiny, decaying gravestones, each dedicated to a child who lost their life to unknown, yet presumably horrifying circumstances.

“Shit,” Steve mutters under his breath.  “There’s a lot of kids here.” You film his profile as he says it, shifting the focus back to get Eddie in the frame, and he shoots his tongue out, putting his forefinger and pinky up to make devil horns. 

Steve does a monologue for the camera.  He’s standing on the hill near one of the taller headstones, and the wind makes his hair unruly.  “Here we are in the town of Burkittsville, formerly Blair. As legend has it, around 1785, a Blair resident named Elly Kedward was accused of practicing witchcraft by several children. The children said that she had dragged them from their homes with the intention of drinking their blood. As you can see, there is an unusually large number of children buried on this hill.”

You film different headstones, making sure to capture the stone angel, and a few of the other statues, to splice into the film while Steve is talking for the final cut.  

Interviews with some of the long-time residents in town are next, and in the car ride down the hill, Eddie holds the camera and turns it on you in the back seat.  You cover your face at first, not wanting to be recorded, but he eases you out of it with some of his playful banter.  “Since we’re interviewing people who grew up here, we should start with you, right? What is your experience with the Blair Witch?”

You’d talked about the stories you’d heard so often with Steve, but being in the spotlight made you nervous, and it took a second to find your words.  “No personal experiences, really, but I’ve heard a lot of lore.  Ghost stories, mostly. Stuff to scare us kids so we’d go to bed early.” You shift in your seat and look out the window, but Eddie is waiting for more.  “I, um, well…”

“Leave her alone, Eddie,” Steve responds absently, flipping the blinker to turn into town. The song Season of the Witch by Donovan is on the radio and Steve’s mumbling the lyrics.

“No, it’s okay,” you flex a quick smile.  “If it helps, I mean, I was 8 years old when we left, I don’t know a lot other than what I’ve researched.”

“Your audience is waiting,” Eddie zooms the focus in way too much so that your eyes take up the whole frame.  

“Okay,” you start. “So I guess there were these two guys who were hunting once, up by the cabin Blair Witch is supposed to haunt, and they just disappeared off the face of the earth. Search parties combed the woods for weeks and couldn’t find a trace of them.”

“Maybe they realized they were in love and ran away together,” Eddie chuckles, pushing the heel of his hand into Steve’s shoulder.  

You smile down at your lap. “Could be.”

“One more thing,” Eddie looks at you over the top of the camera and then puts his eye back down to focus.  “Is there a chance we could all end up victims of the Blair Witch?”

You can’t tell if it’s a serious question, but it gives you chills.  Your eyes flick from the camera to the back of Steve’s head and his messy flop of hair.  

“I personally don’t believe in ghosts or witches,” you smile as you say it, and catch Steve’s quick glance at you in the rearview mirror.  “But don’t tell Steve.”

Eddie snorts and puts the camera in his lap but forgets to turn it off. 

“I’m really looking forward to proving you wrong,” Steve’s muffled voice says to you as Eddie rustles the camera down between his legs.  “There’s some spooky shit going on in those woods, and I’m going to get it on film.”

First night, The Motel 

The map of the forest is spread out across the thin, floral spread of the motel bed. Eddie and you stare down at it, identically flicking your eyes across the inked locations, each mirroring the same dazed look of cluelessness. 

“I think, if we start here and then make our way north we’ll get to here,” Steve then circles the center vigorously before saying, “by midday.” 

On the map it's easy to believe the forest only stretches a few miles and Steve’s plan so far seems simple enough, promising this hike to be quick. With the action plan sorted, a large pizza shared, and your survival packs spilling out with textbook necessities, it gives the three of you the rest of the evening to chill. This downtime allows you to mess about a bit and accidentally fill some of the tape space with personal footage. 

You’ve decided to sprawl out on one of the two double beds, propping yourself up on your elbow to film Steve and Eddie’s tiny little tickle fight that started over Steve being adamant that he wasn’t and would never be ticklish. Eddie knows just the right areas on his ribs to challenge with his deft fingers, making Steve squirm and beg for him to stop, while Eddie chuckles and pounces on top of him, making the cheap bed springs squeak.

“Hey, put the camera away,” Steve spots you, and then attempts to lunge off the bed and grab the camera. But you lift it out of his reach with a mischievous giggle.  

Eddie smiles along with you, his gaze falling with admiration on the way Steve’s cheeks turn a rosy pink at the exhilaration.  He throws a wink your way and pokes his tongue at Steve’s back, grabbing his ankle to keep him from leaving the bed. 

“Stevie, have you seen my lighter?” A few minutes later, you start filming again as Eddie is wandering the room in nothing but a pair of boxers and an unzipped hoodie.

“Are you going to smoke now?” Steve asks, checking the batteries in his flashlight.

“What’s wrong with now?”

“Well, you know,” Steve unsubtly tips his head in your direction, worried that you may not be comfortable.

“Oh, no I don’t mind”, you say, not wanting your inexperience to ruin the mood. It makes Eddie raise an eyebrow, your choice of words being music to his ears. 

“See Steve, if anything she’s probably curious,” he extends both hands to you as if you were a prize at the fair.

Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet and begins to dig through his pack's front pocket before retrieving a baggy of rolled joints. He pats around in his vest and produces a green plastic lighter with a triumphant, “a-ha!”

It’s been a while since you’d smoked weed, and you weren’t even sure you liked it, but Eddie’s contagious energy made you want to be a part of whatever he was doing.  He squints as he inhales, holds it, and then passes the joint to you between pinched fingers before releasing a generous plume of smoke. 

You took what you thought was a tiny drag, but it tickles the back of your throat and sends you into a coughing spasm, making you bat your chest with the palm of your hand after handing the joint back. 

“Can’t handle it sweetheart?” Eddie snickers, but then he wiggles his eyebrows at you and takes another drag for himself, passing you a bottle of water from the bedside table. The cap is off and some of it sloshes onto his hand.

“Oh, wait, I have something better,” Eddie says, jumping off the bed to snatch a fifth of whiskey out of his bag.  “Shots?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Steve adjusts his glasses and pulls back the comforter on his side of the bed to get cozy.  “Just one. We have a long day tomorrow.”

You shrug and nod, eyes bloodshot and watering, while Eddie puts the bottle to his lips and chugs a shot first before handing it to you.  You swallow a big gulp, and Eddie howls at the way your face screws up like you’d just sucked on a lemon.

“Here’s to the Blair Witch,” Steve holds the bottle up before he takes his drink.  “May she grace us with her presence tomorrow.”

Black Hills Forest, Day one, 9am

“Are we filming?” Eddie chimes in, practically vibrating with excitement.  

“The green light is on,” you mumble to yourself, frowning down at the screen on the camera that shows nothing but black.  

“Hey, Indiana Jones,” you call over to Steve who is checking the direction of the wind with a licked finger as he squints into the sun filtering through the dead leaves.  “What am I doing wrong?”

Steve adjusts the strap of his hiking pack and strolls over to you with a tight clench between his eyebrows.  “Give it here,” he sighs, taking it from you. “I just tested it this morning, I know it’s—”

He finally sees the problem and halts.  He makes somber eye contact with you, takes the cover off the lens and holds it up.

“Oh,” you bite the inside of your cheek, stifling a self-conscious laugh. 

“Steve Angelica Harrington,” Eddie grins, throwing his arm around Steve aggressively, almost knocking him over.  “Our hero.”

You lift the camera up to your eye and get both of them in the frame, leaning back to smile at the pair.  Steve shrugs away from Eddie’s attention as if he doesn’t like it, but then there is a moment when he turns and the two almost kiss.  Eddie gives a few exaggerated, puckered smooches and leans in. 

Steve realizes you’re filming and pushes his boyfriend off for real this time, running a hand through his hair to fix himself.  Restless as ever, Eddie comes around to take the camera from you, asks you where certain buttons are, and then points it in your direction.  You shrug him away playfully and shield your face from the nose down with the crook of your arm as if you are Dracula holding your cape.

Steve pops his knee out and tilts his head. “Would you two dorks stop messing around and take this witch hunt seriously? I want this documentary to be a success.”

“So remind me, King Steve,” Eddie turns the camera on his boyfriend, and he does not look amused.  “We’re trying to find the ghost of some child murdering witch from the 1700’s? Should I be trying to spot a gingerbread house too?”

Off camera, you snort and say, “idiot,” under your breath.  

“Eddie,” Steve keeps his profile to the camera, refusing to make eye contact. “Let’s get some footage first and then I’ll let you mess around with the camera.”  He doesn’t want a bunch of adolescent jibber jabber on film. .  

“What, I’m just trying to be helpful,” Eddie shrugs with puppy dog eyes, lowering the device.

He forgets to turn off video again, and as it angles at the ground. Audio catches a distinct sound, like a soft moan, from somewhere in the woods.

Steve holds his hand up for everyone to halt, freezing in place, and a small twig snaps under his foot.  

You open your mouth to speak, something about how it would be better to get a shot of Steve in the clearing, but you are swiftly shushed.

You motion to take the camera from Eddie, and then you point it at Steve, and he turns to you, right in the camera’s eye. His tone is dire:  “Can you hear that humming?” 

“I can’t—” Eddie blurts, but then Steve puts the palm of his hand tight over Eddie’s mouth, wrapping his fingers over his chin, knowing that it was impossible for him to stay quiet under pressure.

Your heart is racing as you concentrate, ears straining.  There is the dry shuffle of the breeze rustling the branches, but otherwise, the silence is eerie and vast. 

“Cut it out, Steve, it’s not funny,” you bristle, locking one arm protectively over your chest while the other attempts to hold the camera in place. Steve is darting his attention around the woods, trying to locate the origin of the sound.

Eddie steps back, moving his mouth away from Steve’s muzzle. “It’s just the wind, baby, it’s making you paranoid,” he offers, noticing the way Steve’s face is drained of its color. Bending down to retrieve the map that fell when Steve got manhandled, one of Eddie’s legs flew out behind him dramatically.  A part of you wonders if Eddie and the map are a good combination, however you keep your thoughts to yourself. 

You’re almost positive you heard a voice in the woods as well, but you decide to keep that close to your chest.

The lingering tension finally subsides, and Eddie reaches back for Steve’s hand to keep him moving in the same direction; to coax him out of his racing thoughts.  Not wanting to waste battery life, you turn the camera off and stumble behind them, actively fighting off the urge to glance over your shoulder at whatever might be following in your wake. 

The next few hours consist of hiking through unused paths and trampling muddy footprints, waiting for Steve to find his perfect backdrop to open his documentary. With the car far behind you and your full 360 view being nothing but trees, Steve finally breaks from his determined stroll.  

“Can we do this now?” You lightly prod. For the last half hour, Steve has been trying to find the right spot to stand, and you felt like his perfectionism will be the death of you.  

Steve has that look, the professional one, when he means business. However, for Steve to enter his little documentary presenter zone he wants to stand alone, the trees being his only sidekick. 

“You can go over there now,” Steve gives Eddie a playful nudge. 

His boyfriend has been on his heels this entire time, but now the metalhead jogs over to grab the camera off of you to keep himself busy, while Steve concentrates, pushing his glasses up on his nose, finding his performance space before he begins.

“The town of Blair has been cursed since the 1700’s,” he starts.

Eddie and you share an encouraging nod, adding a dash of support for Steve to continue.  

“They all warn of the Blair witch, the one known to lure children to her home and sacrifice their souls and use their blood as an offering.” Steve starts to find his rhythm, naturally taking small steps backwards, like a guide, forcing the camera to follow.

“Elly Kedward was eventually found and blamed for the towns disappearances and without trial was banished into these woods in the depth of winter to freeze and perish a worser fate than her victims.” 

There’s a climatic wind gust that passes through the trees, almost like the ghost of a victim's warning, sent to bring the hairs on your arms to rise. It makes Eddie grin, Steve’s eyes widen with interest, and you try to contain a violent shiver; the theatrics of nature perfecting the shot. 

Steve pauses to take in his surroundings for dramatic effect before continuing.

“Her twisted end didn’t sit right, the town of Blair began to notice odd occurrences, noises and symbols from the forest. Locals believe she left a curse. They say she is still roaming in these woods to this day, seaking her revenge and enticing lost souls into her portal to show the devil her true power.” 

Steve takes a breath, pausing before opening his mouth to speak again, but Eddie’s attention span has other ideas. 

“Oh wait,  Steve can you do that again, I didn’t press record,” Eddie says as cool as he can muster, biting the inside of his cheek. 

Steve shoves his hand roughly through his hair and holds it there, tempted to rip the hair from his scalp. “For fuck sake Munson.” 

Quickly breaking into a wild grin Eddie says a quick, “joking babe,” fully accepting the harsh shove Steve jabs to his shoulder, but then Eddie decides to up the antics.  He falls to the ground dramatically and starts to wiggle like a worm.

“Help, Help, it’s got me, the witch,” faking a struggle, to which Steve tuts, lodging a twig in his direction and adding a casual, “get over yourself, Munson.”  You dive down to take the camera from Eddie’s extended arms as he rolls to his side, and bite back a grin before giving Steve the signal that he’s on again.

Steve advises Eddie to roam around while he delivers the next part of the story. 

“This legend sits on the border of fiction and fact. It’s chilling, yes, but the stories and facts just don’t add up. A truth needs to be found and today, the legend of the witch will either remain its legendary hoax or a fatal truth may be… Wait, cut.”

“What, why?” You frown, enjoying Steve’s witch hunter mode, but clearly his self doubt has arrived.

“Was it a bit much? I felt like I was entering Eddie’s DND campaign.”

“Hey,” Eddie protests, opening his mouth and eyes wide at the camera and prompting you to snort a laugh at his theatrics. 

The day wages on, the forest becoming your only view for miles as Steve drags his feet, unsatisfied at his findings so far. The consistent checking of his watch is a hint alone that it’s time to set up camp soon.  

By nightfall, the strange noises from earlier were all but forgotten, and you sit with a full belly in front of the crackling fire opposite Eddie.  You film him as he tells one of his wild stories, complete with active hand gestures and cartoonish sounds.  Eddie gets a detail wrong in the tale he is retelling, and so Steve corrects him with a bit of a bored look on his face, as if he’s heard the story told wrong a million times.  You focus the zoom in on Steve’s face as he turns to rest his chin on his shoulder and regard his partner.  There was a deep fondness there in his eyes, even though it is masked for the moment with irritability.  

Eddie decides to get in close, his mouth inches from Steve’s. You watch as he murmurs something that makes Steve crack a smile, and then the two share a kiss, noses rubbing, and you feel like you were intruding on a private moment.  You then decided it was time to give the juice in the camera a rest for the night while you all slept.  Much like the camera you follow in its footsteps and shut off, exaggerating a yawn to catch the pair’s attention. 

Your little hint is not lost on Steve, and it prompts him to pass you a flashlight so you can avoid tripping over the tent's zip on your way to bed. 

Nestled undercover in your downy sleeping bag, you drift in and out of sleep, only faintly hearing the footsteps of the boys before they go into their tent. In the middle of the night, you swear you hear voices, like a distant conversation, but you assume it must be the boys. There’s an ominous but faint cackling that follows it, but by then, you’re already too deep to notice. 

And then suddenly, there’s nothing, just stillness and the dark of the woodland air. 

Day Two, No sight of the road. 

The next day brings more of the same.  Hopeful banter in the morning, which then easily leads into some playful teasing throughout the afternoon. The on and off tones of professionalism to mockery becomes apparent. At one point while filming, Steve in one of his monologues, tense and suspenseful, until the scene was hijacked by Eddie flying through the air to tackle him.  

The light mood progressively gets shadowed, though, as the day wears on and there seems to be little to no chance of getting back to the car before dark.  Steve halts to check the map several times, flustered and angry with himself, while Eddie has a smoke break and you film around, even catching sight of a doll made of sticks hanging from a tree.  

“Steve?” You hum his name over your shoulder, wanting him to see what you see.  

He ignores you at first, biting the side of his thumbnail, and spinning on his heel as he stares down at the compass. When he finally lifts his head, he frowns, confused, but then the doll made of sticks comes into focus and his eyes narrow behind the smudged lenses of his glasses.

“What the hell is that?” Eddie is already on his way over.  He decides to smoke the other joint in his pack instead of one of his Camels, and it is doing wonders for his anxiety.  

Eddie reaches up to touch the doll, but Steve stops him. “Wait!” He notices that his voice is a bit harsh, so he starts again in a calmer tone.  “Listen, we don’t know what it is or who put it there.  I think we should respect the woods and leave it be.”

“Respect the woods?” Eddie barks a laugh, continuing to touch the legs of the doll and turn it around to see how it was made and you watched through the camera lens. 

“I bet some kid made it when their family was out here camping,” Eddie mused, exhaling smoke. “It’s creepy, I like it.”

Steve decides to interfere with his high boyfriends fascination, batting his hand away and in the process accidentally knocking the wooden doll to the floor.

 “Hey, Steve you’ve killed him!” Eddie taunts; mouth agape, eyes accusatory.

Steve really didn’t want to do that and you sense the growing paranoia that he’s experiencing from the way he’s frozen, staring at the little figure now laying twisted on the floor. Eddie pouts and goes to retrieve it once again. 

“Eddie, leave it.” Steve can’t hide his increasing stress, his words strained in between his clenched teeth. He grabs onto Eddie’s pack using it to encourage Eddie to walk in the other direction.

Steve prays this is the right way. He sends you a weak smile, and you know him well enough to deduce that he is feeling embarrassed that he doesn’t have you out of the woods yet.  

 As the sunlight dwindles, a bitter sense of reality begins to creep up on you. The branches above lose their subtle shadows and the once benign tree clusters begin to morph into something otherworldly. 

When it is finally time to make camp again, it is all any of you could do not to think about the stories you’d recorded from the townspeople the other day.  In particular the one about the killer who would take kids down into his basement two at a time, and make one wait in the corner while he killed one, and then would kill the one in the corner.  He didn’t like their eyes on him, apparently, that’s why he made them stare at the wall.

The darkness is crowding in, giving tiny nudges to everyone's paranoia that you are not alone in that forest.  There was a presence that tickled in barely audible whispers as the night claimed its position and every howl of the wind was a possible threat.  

Not a lot of filming took place during the down time by the fire. It was as if the courage to speak the stories had vanished and the myths began to seep into their reality. Less words exchanged and a few uncertain glances shared with Steve, but Eddie remained stoic and chilled, maintaining his energy. 

The plan of action is the last conversation you share, Steve taking control and promising that you’ll all be back in town by tomorrow afternoon. 

The sound of the boys getting situated in their tent was comforting, and you giggled when Eddie farted and tried to blame it on a passing wildebeest.  But, things got quiet quickly—too quiet—and soon you could hear the faint hiss of Steve’s snore and you realized that having your own tent was not all it was cracked up to be.

An owl hooted, but along with its natural call there was something else out there making sounds.  Was that the humming Steve had mentioned the day before?  Straining to listen, the noise was followed by an unmistakable cackle that made you grab the flashlight and a pillow and scurry out of  your tent like it was on fire.  

“Um-guys,” you were pulling open the flap to their tent before either of them could answer. “Is there any possibility i could squeeze in your tent tonight, i was a-a bit cold on my own.” 

Eddie sits up, groggily, from where he had his head on Steve’s chest, as if he’d fallen asleep the second he closed his eyes, and scoots away to make room for you in the middle.

Feeling safer nestled between your two friends, you are finally able to let yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep that offers no reprieve from the shadows in your mind.

Later that night, scattered and confused, another bizarre noise caught your attention, jarring you awake. 

A blanket of dark coats the inside of the tent, but after a few fuzzy blinks you easily make out that  Steve is sitting up with the flap of the tent open. He’s crouched over, the faint shake of his hands holding the camera a dead giveaway to his unease.

Sensing that you are awake, he tilts his head to the side to acknowledge you, and then signals for you to listen. 

“Did you hear that?” You whisper, not wanting to wake Eddie who is offering soft snores next to you.  

Steve puts a finger to his lips, and then turns back around with the camera pointed out into the night.

Somehow he manages to convince himself that the noise is from a deer or squirrel. Due to your delirious state, this information settles your tired worry and allows you to snuggle down, eager for the morning light. 

Day Three, Walking in Circles

With no idea how long Steve remained awake last night, there’s a part of you that feels he’s hiding something to protect you. The next morning his raw, uplifting nature dwindled, his inner doubts coming to the surface to pinch the skin between his eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry I dragged you all out here,” Steve announces with a heavy sigh, staring down at the remnants from the fire. Eddie angles the camera up at him while you zip a few things into your knapsack. “We’ll be having lunch back in town in a few hours, but let’s keep adding to the footage as we go.”

Steve shows you on the map where you were all headed, tapping his finger in the spot where you’d parked the car.  “Two hours, tops,” he promises.  

Eddie gets to his feet and adjusts the focus so that Steve goes from blurry to clear to blurry again. “Battery life on this thing is low and I can’t find the portable charger.”

Steve turned on him, jaw muscles tensing, ready to let an angry word slip.

“The charger is right here,” you corrected, lifting it out of the bag it was in to show Steve and calm his nerves. Once Steve steps away to check the compass again, Eddie makes a face at you, tongue darting out from the side of his mouth, letting you know that he knew it was there, he just wanted to give Steve a hard time.  

“I have a question for you, sir,” Eddie rushes up behind Steve and taps his shoulder, making him turn away from the lens, bringing a hand up to block his face. “How do you feel about this Blair Witch hunt so far?”

Steve smooths the sides of his hair back and squares his shoulders, determined to look unbothered.  “I feel good,” he lied. “I feel like I know exactly where we are and we just need to head east for another couple miles.  Everything's going as planned, we’re just a little behind schedule, that’s all.”

You open the canteen around your neck and gulp down a few swigs of water, musing that there wasn’t much left, and you needed to find a fresh stream somewhere soon, just in case.

But, it was only a passing worry, because Steve’s confidence that you’d be back at the car in a few hours gave you an unhealthy helping of blind hope. 

When you finally find the water line, there is a fallen tree across the creek, and it happens to be the only way across.  You have the worst balance, and being suspended over moving water makes you nervous in a way that has your hands trembling.  Eddie carries the camera for you, strapping around his neck as he makes his way across like an acrobat, and then Steve follows behind you, whispering words of encouragement.  

Hours later, it’s high noon when Steve makes you all stop for a rest to take your packs off so that he can check the map again.  You happen to be filming him as a flex of panic flashes across his face.  

“Why does this spot feel so familiar?” He asks it under his breath, but the audio catches it.  

It was the same spot you’d started from earlier in the day; same stump, same bundle of dead branches next to a large boulder. Steve turns on his heel and you can see in his face the way his heart stops when he sees the impressions from the previous night’s tent pegs.

“How is this possible?” He whispers. “We’ve been going straight all day, following the compass.”

“Give me that,” Eddie storms by, yanking the map from Steve to sit down on the big stump to look at it while he has a smoke.  “This shit is Greek to me,” he admits, hollowing out his cheeks to take in all of the nicotine his lungs would allow. “Are you telling me we’ve been going in circles?”

You squat next to Eddie, filming him while he glowers at the lines on the paper, hair tied back in a messy ponytail.  This was the crankiest you’d ever seen him, and you’d known him for at least a year at that point. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that there were only 3 cigarettes left, and his pack a day habit was at risk of being tested without nicotine patches or comfort.  

He realizes you are recording and flinches away, blowing smoke out his nostrils.  “Put that thing away please.  I’m not in the mood.”

Steve split the last half of a squished peanut butter sandwich into 3 parts and passed one to each of you, but Eddie refuses his.  You stare up at Steve, waiting for his word that you should stop, but he shakes his head.  “She’s doing exactly what I told her to do, Eddie. We’re filming a documentary.”

“Oh, we’re filming a documentary about being lost now? Is that what this is? Because we are, we’re fucking lost.”

 Eddie grumbles, exhaling an agitated breath.

“We’re not.” Steve’s voice is gruff as he pushes the food into his cheek with his tongue.  “I know exactly where we are.  The car is right over that way, through the trees, I’m positive.”

“Yeah, well, you said that yesterday morning and last night and four fucking hours ago,” Eddie shot to his feet with a huff, keeping the butt of his smoke clenched between his lips to button up the front of his black and red flannel. 

“Shouldn’t you know where we are?” Eddie’s penetrating gaze falls on you, and for some reason, it makes you nervous.  “I know you said you were just a kid, but you grew up here right? So, you must have some idea?”

You glance nervously over at Steve, as if to ask for support, and then focus the camera back on Eddie as you stammer.  “I–I don’t ever remember coming out here. Once maybe, but—”

“Really Eddie?” Steve turns to his boyfriend. “You expect her to have a Magellan sense of direction in these woods because she lived nearby when she was a child? You get lost in Hawkins and you’ve lived there your whole life.”

Eddie mumbles something as he straps the last part of his pack on and starts walking, without a word, heading in the direction Steve suggested, kicking at the dirt as he goes.  

“I’m sorry about this,” Steve mutters to you as he offers his hand and helps you stand. “I should’ve had you home safe by now.”

“It’s okay, I trust you. I promise I really don’t know these woods that well,” your voice is small.  Your eyes are softly pleading when they find his, as if to beg for absolute reassurances.

But, Steve has nothing verbal to give.  His throat is dry, he hates fighting with Eddie, and his pride was taking quite a catastrophic blow—on film, no less. He squeezes your arm, and continues at a fast trot to catch up with his salty partner, pulling you along with him.  

A few hours later, the sky opened up and it started to rain, and as you ducked to follow the boys into the clearing to reluctantly set up camp, you trip over a pile of rocks and almost drop the camera.

“What the hell is this?” You mused aloud, adjusting the focus, establishing that it was, indeed, just a pile of rocks, but there was something…odd about them.  They’d been stacked up by hand in the shape of a mound. 

Steve and Eddie were up ahead, standing in close proximity, having a conversation in tense whispers while Eddie found the driest patch of ground under the canopy of trees to shake the tent out.  It was only drizzling now, and he was eager to set up some type of shelter in case the downpour started again.

Steve moves the hood of his yellow rain slicker back to check where you were, and then comes over to see what you’d found.  

“There’s a couple of them,” you point out, stepping back so he could view the others, “What was it that one woman in town said about stacks of rocks? Something to do with a signal, or warning maybe.” 

Turning, you see Steve frantically dig through his bag, only letting out a satisfied hum when he retrieves his notebook. Its spiral-bound pages hold all of the key points from interviews of people back in town. You can tell he’s proud of you for having the intuition to know that these stacks might be important.  

“Remember that woman we spoke to at the trailer park?” Steve asks, biting his lip in thought.

“The weird one? Mary?” You wonder aloud. 

Steve snaps his fingers in excitement, flicking to the right page in his notes. 

“Yes! Crazy Mary.  I wasn’t paying much attention to her because I thought she was insane, but I’m sure she mentioned something to do with rock piles?”

“What’s your notes say?” You lean in to see what the camera can catch on the paper.

“Not a lot. I’ve just written ‘Bible Story about rocks’”.

You try your hardest to remember, whispering to yourself and attempting to remember what the eccentric woman had said. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you begin. “But, didn't she say something like, they symbolize a promise, like if you promise not to cross the rocks nothing can harm you and vice versa from the one who put them there. Ancient truce type agreement?”

“I mean it sounds right, but why are there three?”

“I'm not sure?”

Steve waves Eddie over, but he isn’t interested.  He’d gone into full-on “if I don’t keep busy I’m going to lose my shit” mode, dropping to his knees in the mud to hammer in the tent pegs.

Steve sighs, feeling like Eddie probably needs a bit of attention and comfort before his mood swing completely erupts. In his process of turning away from the rocks his booted foot catches a pebble, sending the pile toppling over, but he doesn’t think to give it any attention.

Panicking in his wake, you shield the camera from the rain and re-pile the pebbles back in a formation that you hope they resembled. 

You eat the last of the canned vienna sausages by the fire and no one is in the mood for jokes, but Steve does reassure everyone, especially with an arm around his boyfriend’s stiff shoulders, that you all would be out of the forest by the next afternoon.  You film it, catching the way Eddie pulls away at first but then leans in to rest his head on top of Steve’s and they both stare into the fire with glossy eyes.  

You didn’t even bother setting your tent up that evening, and you snuggle on the outside of the boys this time, curling up next to Steve while he spoons Eddie.  

For the first hour or two, everything is peaceful, and the three of you sink into shallow sleep, only to be jared awake by Steve stumbling out of his sleeping bag, stepping on both of his companions in the process.  

“Holy fuck, did you hear that?” He hisses, moving to unzip the tent.  “I need to get out there, hand me the camera.”

“Steve!” You bark a harsh whisper.

“Goddamn it,” Eddie starts putting his boots on, half asleep, not wanting Steve to go out alone. “It’s just a bunch of fucking deer or something, baby, will you just—”

But then, you all hear it.

As loud and as clear as if there were people standing right outside your tent: a cackle of laughter, heavy steps crunching in the leaves, snapping twigs, echoing from the forest floor.  And then there is the distinct cry of a little kid—maybe two, three different little kids. It all echoed back into the woods as if it’s in your ears and far away all at once. 

With the tent flap half open and one foot out, Steve shoots a look back at the two of you, nostrils flaring as he stills for more noise.  “Did you hear those kids?” He huffs, snatching the camera and ducking down to bolt out of the tent. 

“Baby, there are no kids in these woods!” Eddie lunges after him, catching Steve’s calf to pull him back in.  He stumbles back under cover into a crouch, only to “shush” everyone again, certain that he heard something else.

It’s then that the tent begins to shake and jostle, and the cackling continues, but it’s right on top of you now, circling the enclosure.

“Holy shit, holy fuck,” Eddie wails, pushing Steve out of the tent this time, and reaching back for your hand as he exits.

“Go go go!” You demand, encouraging them both to run as far and fast as they could from the campsite. 

Everyone is stumbling and cursing, running in the dark, with the light of the camera Steve’s holding being the only illumination.  He trips over something with a curse, and Eddie helps him up while you take the camera, not caring where the lens points as you run along with the boys, as fast as your feet can carry you.  

Not a sound follows you, not a single footstep or snicker.  Eventually, you all collapse breathless in a huddle, hunkering down near a tree.

Eddie looks into the camera you hold. “Turn that light off,” he’s panting, pupils pinned. “Shut it all off, stay the fuck down.”

“Keep the audio on,” Steve whispers, to which he gets a shove in the shoulder from Eddie.

“I can’t believe you’re still trying to film your movie, dude,” Eddie hushes curtly.

“Shutup!” You scold them both, turning the camera off.

You all sit frozen in place, holding onto each other in a football huddle for—god knows how long? Two hours maybe.  Daylight finally begins to break, prompting Steve to motion you to get the camera rolling again. 

Day Four, No Way Home

The three of you stay close, too frightened to be even a meter apart as you make your way back in the direction of camp. You’re cold, wet and done; so over this witch hunt and ready to put it behind you. 

After a while of weary steps and nervous glances around, Eddie’s tongue clicks, breaking the silence. “There are some hillbillies in these woods trying to fuck with us, and I don’t want to fuck with that.”

Steve looks up at him.  “But what if it’s something…not human?”

“Well, I don’t want to fuck with that either,” Eddie runs both hands through his hair, intertwining his fingers on top of his head as he walks.

You decide to chime in. “Something definitely does not want us here.”

“No kidding, Sherlock.” Eddie blows a raspberry and turns his back on the two of you.

“Something?” Steve cocks his head at you. “But I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts or witches?”

“I don’t,” you swallow hard, averting your eyes.  “But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

“Okay, we’re going,” Steve answers, meeting Eddie’s hard stare over your shoulder with defiance.  “We got what we came for, let’s get our shit and keep heading north.”

“Are you sure north is the direction we need to go in?” You ask, cringing through the beginning stages of a headache.  “Because we were headed north all day yesterday and it didn’t get us anywhere.”

When the campsite finally comes into view again, everyone stops short, each jaw going slack in disbelief.

“uhhh, what the fuck is this?” Eddie mumbles, stomping over to look at the way the tent has been squashed, and how everyone’s things have been thrown around.  Whoever or whatever had been taunting you all a few hours ago had made a mess of all of your things; there was clothing and gear tossed in every direction.

You ran across the campsite, eyes searching. “Where is my pack?” The question caught in your throat, as if you might cry.  

“Your pack is right there,” Eddie points.  “More importantly, Where is my pack?”

Everyone starts collecting what they can find of their personal items while Eddie lifts up his open canteen from the ground.  “They dumped all the fucking water out.”

He realizes that the canteen is also coated in something and he drops it with a curse. “Is that fucking slime? It is, there is some kind of slime all over it,” he raises his hand up to look at the viscous liquid and then rubs it off on his pant leg as best as he could.

“Im not fucking about anymore Steve, okay I believe it all, you happy? This shit, whatever it is, whoever it is, doesn’t want us here.”

Eddie’s right, this is a clear warning, an intentional attack, and for once Steve’s not looking excited at the product of evidence before you all. Steve turns towards you, your kneeling figure scooping up your pack—it had been thrown to the other side of the campsite, but nothing seemed to be missing.

Before he could question it, the whining sound of Eddie pricks his ears. Swiftly turning to face whatever tantrum the curly haired boy is throwing now, Steve is faced with Eddie frantically picking up scattered pieces of clothing. 

“Woah, babe, is that all your clothes?” Steve asks in a rush, moving closer.

“Yep”. Eddie doesn’t even want to converse. 

“Just yours though Eddie? No one else's?”

“This is bullshit!” Eddie throws the canteen down and it bounces further away.

Steve moves to reach out and touch Eddie’s arm, but his hand gets slapped away.  “Leave me alone, dude. I need a second.”

You turn the camera off while everyone collects their things and tries to catch their breath.  You were all officially out of food now, with the exception of some peanuts, and a detour needed to be made to get water from the creek.  Eddie refused to use his after it was slimed, but thankfully Steve had an extra one.

When the camera comes back on, it is a couple hours later, and Steve is holding it this time to film Eddie enjoying his last smoke, while you sit with your head against a tree and your eyes closed.  No one is in the mood for talking, and it is wise to conserve energy with very few resources at your disposal.

“A hamburger and fries sounds nice,” you said to break the silence with your eyes still closed.

“Mmmhmm,” Eddie concurred. “A big can of Spaghetti-O’s would hit the spot right now.”

Steve points the camera at his hiking boots as he steps closer, indulging in the fantasy. “I’ve been craving one of those clam chowder bread bowls like we had on the wharf in San Francisco.” 

“That was some good shit,” Eddie mumbles, sucking his smoke all the way down to the filter. 

The camera turns off again, and when it comes back on, you have it.  Eddie is charging ahead, waving his arms, shouting something about how you all need to follow the creek and you’ll end up somewhere eventually.

“Hey,” Steve is walking in front of you, but he turns around.  “Can you pass me the map? I want to check something.”

“Yeah, hold on,” you say, but then you reach back and realize you can’t feel the well-worn edges, and sudden, prickling dread takes over. Panicked, you reach around to check the other pocket, coming to realize the map is gone. 

“Are you sure you gave it to me Steve?” you lighty question, knowing that right now is no time for jokes. 

Steve gives you an exasperated look, as if you are goofing with him like Eddie might.  “Yes, you have the map, you always have the map.  I gave it to you after a map-check before we made camp yesterday.”

You kneel on the ground and put the camera down to do a proper search, your heart racing.  “Eddie,” you shout, making him stop abruptly in his tracks.  “Do you have the map?”

“Me?” Eddie turns around but stays yelling from a distance.  “Why the hell would I have it? It was fucking useless anyway.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve pats the air with his hands, trying to calm the meltdown he can feel building. His attention returns to you as you stand without a map in your hand and a worried look on your face.  “I know I gave it to you,” Steve reiterates. “It has to be somewhere in your stuff.”

You don't want to say what you are thinking, as you stand, pointing the camera at Steve again, but it comes out anyway.  “What if whoever attacked the tent took it?”

Steve grimaces.  “What would they want with…our map?”

“To make sure we have no chance of finding our way out of here,” you say it under your breath, and through the lens, you watch Steve’s jaw go slack as he takes on that possibility.  

When realization dawns that you were about to lose light and need to make camp again, a thick blanket of anxiety and agitation falls over all of you.  You are dragging your feet, camera angle pointed at the ground while the boys get the tent out.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this again,” Eddie mumbles curtly, brow furrowing, and back teeth grinding as the nicotine withdrawal nips at him.  

You mention that you’ll go and gather some branches to make a fire, but Steve puts his hand out to stop you.  “Let’s not make a fire tonight.  We don’t need to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

“Good idea,” Eddie grunts. “I’d rather freeze to death in a few hours than spend one more day fumbling around this hellscape.” He is digging through his things in Steve’s pack to see if there happens to be a stray cigarette or joint anywhere.  The frustrated anger rising in him is palpable.

“It’ll be a while before I ever go camping again, that’s for sure,” you muse to the group, and both the boys respond with enthusiastic nods of agreement. 

“I’m gonna burn this tent when we get home,” Eddie bites out.

When you turn to Steve, he is rubbing his forehead and staring down at the ground, pensively, and you ask if you should stop filming for a bit.  

Steve glosses over your question and asks another: “You promise you don’t have the map? Because if you have it, and you were just saying you lost it to be funny, I won’t be mad.”

You lower the camera so that it’s focused on his chest and the army green utility jacket he’s wearing.  “I’ve checked my pack three times,” you offer, earnestly. “I promise, I don’t have it.  I wish I did, Steve.”

In the background, Eddie curses at the top of his lungs and one of the tent pegs he’d been fumbling with goes flying through the air. “I’m so fucking done with this! Holy shit, what the hell are we still doing out here? This is fucking insane.” 

Steve motions for you to keep filming.  He’d tease Eddie about all of this later, he knew he would.  He’d also use it as fodder for the argument of why he should quit smoking altogether.

Steve turns toward his boyfriend with his hands on his hips. “I know you blame me for all of this, and I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? We’re all tired and hungry and miserable.”

Eddie snaps around, eyes dark and his body rigid.  “You bet your fucking ass I blame you! You’re the reason we’re about to get flayed by a bunch of inbred mountain people or die of starvation out here in this shitty-ass excuse for a forest.”

“You begged me to let you come on this trip, Eddie,” Steve is doing his best to keep his voice low, because matching Eddie’s tone when he gets upset never helps the situation. “Like you said, if we follow the creek, we’re bound to end up somewhere. It’s impossible to get lost for too long in America these days.”

Eddie’s nostrils flare.  “I begged you? I practically agreed under false pretenses one night when you had my dick in your mouth, I didn’t beg for shit.  I wanted to spend time with my boyfriend and watch him work, but that was back when I thought you were talented.  Now I realize you’re just a hack who can’t even read a fucking map.”

He regrets it the second it leaves his lips, and you can see it in the way the corners of his mouth turn down. “I didn’t mean that,” Eddie whispers.

You step back from the two, not sure what type of conflict is about to ensue.

You can tell it hurts Steve by the way his eyes water, and he pushes his glasses up to rub his face.  “No, you’re right,” Steve sighs, “It is my fault.  But maybe if you weren’t such a big, needy baby all the fucking time, I might have been able to think clearly on this trip.”

“I’m the needy baby? Seriously?  So what, little miss perfect over there gets let off the hook because she’s your perfect little puppet?”

“Hey, no need to bring her into this.”

“Guys!” You shout, waiting until they both look at you.  “This isn’t helping, okay? I for one am scared shitless about what else might be out here in these woods, and if we don’t stick together, we don’t have a chance.”

There is a minute long silence while everyone tries  to shake the anxiety out of their shoulders. Steve comes over to let you know you can turn the camera off, but then the sound of Eddie’s laughter makes you both turn.  

He’s bent over, hands on his knees, laughing so hard he is sucking in dry air.

You and Steve share an amused look, 

“What’s so funny, baby?” Steve asks, cracking a bit of a smile.

Eddie stands, face red from exertion. “You and that fucking map. I got rid of it yesterday! What do you think about that?” Eddie then convulses into giggles again, walking off into the other direction.

“You did what?” Both you and Steve say in unison.

Surely, you’d both misheard him.

“Yeah,” Eddie continues. “I kicked that fucker into the creek, it was useless!”

“You son of a bitch,” Steve spat, lunging at him. “How could you do that to me? To us?”

You catch Steve’s arm, trying to hold the camera and him all at once. The last thing you need is for these two to get into a physical fight.

Eddie starts to walk further away, but then he stops to turn on his heel and face the two of you, deciding to fight his case a little more. “We just kept going in circles, it wasn’t helping us!”

“You knew I was going crazy looking for it! Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve yells after him. 

In the distance, you see Eddie shrug, before matter of factly stating, “I need to go for a walk.”

“But it will be dark in a half hour,” panic bubbling in your chest. “Eddie…wait!” 

Eddie waves his arm in the air and keeps going.  

“Let him go,” Steve touches your shoulder, “he gets like this sometimes. Let him walk it off, we’ll finish setting up.”

Steve has an overwhelming desire to run after his partner, to say, “hey, stop, I love you,” but none of that ever happened.  He knew when it was best to let Eddie cool off.

He knows Eddie won’t go far, he’ll be back in a few minutes.

When you turn the camera back on, an hour later, Eddie is still not back.

There is a soft, orange glow from the sunset through the trees, but other than that, it’s pitch black out. Locking arms with Steve, he dances the beam of his flashlight around the forest while you film with the camera light on, trying to remain within visual distance from camp.

Steve had already screamed Eddie’s name so many times, his voice was becoming hoarse.

 “If you’re fucking with us, Eddie, I swear to Christ I will never ever forgive you!” He starts to imagine Eddie is crouched down by a tree somewhere, covering his mouth to hold back the hilarity of watching his boyfriend almost shit his pants looking for him.

Steve tries to break free from your linked arms, attempting to charge deeper into the woods.

“Steve, no!” You squeak, desperation present in your tone. You shift the camera to the crook of your arm, so it angles up at his horrified face. You really don't want anything bad to happen to Eddie, but you also can’t let anything bad happen to Steve. 

Steve suddenly turns to face you, eyes wild.  “But what if he’s hurt somewhere, what if he’s…damn it Eddie!...what if…”

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence, you already know what he is thinking. What if the myths of the forest were true? What if there was an entity in the woods that fed on fear and needed a sacrifice every so often? What if there were hillbillies in pig masks carrying chainsaws and they often resorted to cannibalism? You’d watched too many horror movies in your life and so had Steve, and it wasn’t helping either one of you at that moment.

But, to be fair, it wasn’t all just in your head.  There is definitely something or someone else out there with all of you, and maybe it was just biding its time until all of you are broken.   

Eddie’s missing.  An hour later, it’s official.  

He wasn’t hiding or playing a game; he had somehow vanished into thin air. The guilt begins to creep and crawl, festering inside Steve’s chest, the buzzing of night insects heightening his sense of dread. 

You’d manage to coax Steve back to the tent. “We’ll go back and build a fire, so that he can see the light of it if he’s lost.”

“I’m not going to stop looking for him,” Steve mutters, screaming Eddie’s name again as he walks, his voice echoing off the emptiness as the cold air burns his lungs. He was too pumped full of fear and adrenaline to cry, but the tears were building behind his eyes. “It’s freezing out here and he’s only got that flannel on.”

“Listen to me,” you yank Steve around to look at you, being rougher than you ever have with him, but your eyes are kept soft.  “It would be very easy for us to get lost in these woods ourselves.  What if Eddie makes it back to camp and we’re gone?”

You let that sink in, hoping you can reason with him.  You notice that his shoulders relax.

“I bet he went a little too far and he can’t find his way back in the dark,” you continue.

  “He probably found some shelter to wait it out for the night.  He’ll be cold, but it’s not going to freeze, he’ll survive. We can go out and look for him at first light.”

Steve starts nodding to himself as he pans the flashlight beam over the forest again.  “A fire is a good idea, so he knows where we are.”

The active denial grips the both of becoming a makeshift coping mechanism, a way to hold onto hope when there seems to be none left.  You have a bad feeling that you may never see Eddie alive again, but you plan on keeping up pretenses for Steve for as long as you could.

 “We’ll find him, Steve,” you don’t want to lie to him, but you felt like it was something he needed to hear.

Steve struggles to meet your eyes, but you can make out a stray tear that’s making tracks across his stubbled cheek and it breaks your heart for him. 

“I didn’t go after him, didn’t even try to convince him to stay. How fucking stupid could I be?”

“No, Steve, you can’t blame yourself, okay, it was an in the moment thing, it’s going to be okay.”

“What part of this whole thing has EVER been okay?”

He turns his back on you and it sends a stinging pang through your chest.  A part of you can’t help but wonder if he’s wishing it were you that went missing. Maybe he’s wishing he never brought you along at all.

With a heavy heart and a signature rake through his hair, Steve shuts his eyes, takes a shaken breath and turns around, inviting you to step into his arms and you hook an arm around his waist. This embrace is welcomed, as you soak up the heavy warmth wrapped around you, making it hard to let go. Seemingly feeling the same, Steve leans in further, soaking up what he presumes is the last moments of peace, a crumb of tranquility. Feeding on the sliver of hope you’ve provided him.

A stuttered sigh slips from Steve’s dry lips.  His next words are nothing but a whisper, but it’s meaningful, and becomes tattooed amongst the trees.

“I can’t lose him,” his voice cracks.

Then, as if on cue, there’s a cry—a whimper of agony erupts from deep in the nothingness.

Steve snaps a look at you and a fist tightens over your heart.  You hold very still, making sure you heard what you thought you did, both wondering if you’d imagined it.

But then another scream follows, this one more drawn out than the first, and it sounds just like Eddie.

Steve braces himself, senses sharp, trying to find the direction the scream is coming from.  “Holy shit, that was him!”

There’s a scuffle as Steve bumps into you in his haste to move.  You almost drop the camera as he bounces off of you, losing his mind over the sound of Eddie's voice, you then scramble to catch the device before it falls to the ground. There’s only muffled noises for a bit as your arm is blocking the microphone and the lens catches the back of Steve’s legs, bolting into the pitch black forest.

“Whatever you do, don’t stop filming!” He shouts over his shoulder.

And then your heart is pounding, jackhammering in your chest as you take after him. Steve’s running, pumping his arms, and then there’s another scream and he catches himself for a full stop, freezing in place.  

The video takes in the side of his face, tears wetting his cheek under his glasses, his head turning in the direction of the scream.  “It’s this way…Eddie!...it’s coming from over there!” He points in that direction, and then his feet follow to a place where the trees get denser.

You glance over your shoulder in the direction of the campsite, wondering if the two of you will be able to find your way back, but then keeping up with Steve becomes a priority.  Breathlessly, you struggle to keep up the pace, you trip and try to avoid falling over tree stumps that are dotted along the path.

“Steve”, you manage to stutter in between sharp breaths, “How do we know, what if- what if it’s a trick. What if it’s not Eddie?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course it's…”

Another scream. 

Steve’s words die on his tongue, as all he can manage is a wide eyed frantic glare into the trees, before attempting once again to scream his boyfriend’s name in vain, begging to catch a glimpse of his frizzed up hair between the branches. 

You both speed up, using all the remaining energy left inside your weak bodies, ignoring the burning in your lungs and metallic taste coating your tongues. 

The woodland flooring begins to create almost a disheveled looking path, a trail appearing out of nowhere. Horrifying possibilities begin to bleed into Steve’s imagination, the memories of the past few days twisting in his mind as he tries to predict what state his boyfriend could be in. 

Steve stops to get his bearings, gulping in breaths.  His stomach clenches like he might puke, but he swallows down bile, hoping for another scream to pierce the night and guide his way.

You catch a glint of something silver nestled in the leaves of the forest floor, and you shine the light down there to get a look.  You swear it’s Eddie’s wallet chain, the one he had on the last time you saw him, but then Steve starts moving again, on the trail of a sound only he could hear.

Running full boar, dodging through the trees, something smacks Steve in the face, and he swats it away, thinking it’s a branch.  But then he takes a step back and looks up. You almost smash straight into the back of him, not realizing he’d stopped so abruptly.  Your camera light brings attention to what Steve is seeing.

Unsettling deja vu is shared between you both as you realize that a cluster of handcrafted stick dolls, like the one you found the other day, are dangling before you. 

Steve’s hand trembles, reaching out to touch the frayed twine from which they hang. 

"Steve, stop," you hiss, your voice is a harsh whisper, eyes darting over the dolls as they sway in the breeze. You can't shake the feeling that you are being watched; that something sinister is lurking just beyond your peripheral vision.

Ignoring you, Steve begins to count the dolls, pointing with his finger, his movements manic, his words a rapid, breathless murmur.

"One, two, three... they're leading somewhere!”

"Steve!" you call out to him desperately, your voice echoing through the forest, falling on blind ears. He starts to follow the primitive stick dolls, and you know you have no choice but to go with him into the unknown, the dread of what lies ahead producing blooms of sweat on your scalp. 

Finally, you emerge into a small clearing. There stands an old, weathered cabin.

 It appears abandoned and worn, its wooden walls covered in moss and ivy, and its windows cracked and shattered. The cabin looms like a forgotten relic of the past, isolated in the dense forest.

“Steve, I-I don’t think this is a good idea”. The air is heavy, and your teeth are chattering.

“Whatever happens,” Steve clicks his tongue and swallows hard, wetting his dry mouth. “Promise me you won’t stop filming.”

“Steve, are you insane?”

He turns to you with wide, earnest eyes, his voice dead calm under the circumstances, “Promise me?” 

You feel like you’ve officially lost him, whatever you attempt to say to change his mind would be useless. “I-I promise.”

Another blood-curdling yelp of agony pierces through the air.

“Eddie, I’m coming!” Steve huffs, motioning for you with a swing of his arm.

You both scramble cautiously onto the cabin’s creaking porch. You decide to zoom the lens in on Steve’s hand, reaching for the rusted doorknob, trying your hardest to focus. 

Dread seizes you, and you attempt to get through to him. “Steve, please, I think I do remember a way out of these woods, actually. What if we go back to the tent, wait till morning and try again?”

You manage to worm your way in between Steve and the door, blocking him now. Steve remains unyielding, shrugging you out of his way, twisting the door knob, and then pushing in the unlocked door. 

“Steve—” Your voice cracks. You want to find Eddie too but there’s something…wrong with this cabin, and you can’t find the words to tell Steve in a way that would make him give up the search.

But then he’s already through the open door, and you stay on his heels. The light from your camera dances over his flashlight beam into the broken floorboards and chipped paint of the interior of the cabin.  

The screaming has stopped, but now the dead silence invades your senses.  There’s no furniture, and the walls are bare. There is a smell lingering that hints to wood rot and black mold and rodent feces. You scan the camera around to show there’s a wide, empty room, and a hallway to the right.

“I-I can’t lose him,” Steve whispers, and your eyes are wet, heart hurting for what this trip has become. You can't let him go in there alone, no matter how much your instincts are telling you to grab him and run in the other direction. 

With each step you take, the cabin seems to expand into a labyrinth of winding corridors, narrow staircases, and hidden rooms. The walls are lined with faded, peeling wallpaper, and the air grows colder and more oppressive with each passing moment. 

But then Steve darts down the dark hallway and up a stairway and you try to follow, tripping on the first step in your hurry.

“He’s in here, I know it,” Steve gasps, and you can only catch his boots before he is already on the next floor.

Eddie’s cry sounds again, and this time there is no mistake— it’s coming from inside the house. 

Two floors up, there are empty rooms, but still no sign of Eddie.  Steve makes a point to direct your attention to the same type of child handprints you’d seen earlier.  “Did you catch these?” He asks pointing to make sure you got the shot.  

It looks like a dozen tiny children had dipped their hands in black paint and made palm impressions all over the wall over the ripped and stained wallpaper.

And then another scream, muffled this time, breaks the silence of your twin haggard breaths, but it is coming from somewhere deep in the cabin now—somewhere below.  You can almost feel the screams vibrate inside the soles of your feet.

The shout is followed by a heavy bang that shakes the walls. It makes you both jump, locking eyes with mirrored expressions of fear.

Without a word, Steve disappears back down the stairs and into the shadows of the second floor. There are no sounds picked up by audio other than Steve calling for Eddie, and you follow, taking two reluctant steps at a time. The weight of uncertainty makes your feet feel like lead, while the lightheadedness of your hunger makes your skull feel like a balloon, and you have to catch yourself on the wall to find your balance, stars crossing in your vision.  

The only sounds now are the heavy thuds of footfalls on the old stairs, and the drumbeat of your heart in your ears. There appear to be looming shapes all around you as you run after Steve, and the camera catches glimpses of things that are unidentifiable sliding along the walls.  

You hear Steve shout, “down here!” and then he is throwing another door open and it sounds like he’s bolting further down in the house, down into what must be a basement.

You think you catch a glimpse of a figure standing in the corner, but when you stumble back and point the camera light there, you realize it’s nothing.

“Steve?” You can’t get a visual on where he is now, but then you finally catch the open door and the glow from his flashlight beam. 

“I don’t feel good about this, Steve! Don’t go down there!”

But it’s too late.

You reach the top of the stairs.  “Steve, wait!”

“He’s down here somewhere, I know it!” Steve persists.

You take another look at him through the lens; he’s dropping down to the dirt floor and darting to the left, disappearing into the inky blackness.  The sound of Eddie’s voice has not been heard for a while, but Steve continues to call out for him, the tremor in his voice now catching with a sob. 

 Abruptly, you see Steve halt. 

He shouts up over his shoulder to you, “Did you hear that?”

The air is suddenly ice cold; freezing even.  You shrink against the doorframe and pan the camera to capture the front door behind you, noting that it is closed, and then quickly back to Steve.

Something in the basement startles him, and Steve drops his flashlight to the ground, smashing the light's glass in the process, making him curse before rushing back up to you, banking on the illumination from the camera light to help him find his way. 

Sprinting up the rickety steps, Steve is relieved to find that you are still intact, dutifully holding his camera and waiting for him. 

Your presence serves as his motivation to attempt to sprint up the stairs a little faster. However, something stops him in his tracks a few steps up.

Your heart is in your throat as you wait, but Steve pauses to look over his shoulder.  “I feel like there is something else down here.”

Your teeth are chattering, your words come out stuttered. “Hurry, Steve.  Let’s go!”

“Not without Eddie,” he says with a vigorous shake of his head, taking one more searching look into the seemingly empty basement.

The chill you feel is much more than skin deep as you pan the camera around the main room again to find it empty, all but for the shadows that appear to be crowding in. 

You can hear Steve make his way up two more steps, but before you can shine the light back down on him, there’s a loud THUD from somewhere below. The noise manages to sliver into the walls, sending an unnatural quake throughout the entire house.

 “Holy shit, what the fuck was that?” Steve jumps.

 His feet are moving before his brain can fully register what is happening. 

Steve never looks back again. 

He takes the next few steps and trips over himself in his haste, his glasses falling in the process.  He doesn’t even bother to bend over to retrieve them, he hears the glass crunch under his boot but can’t bring himself to care as the high volume of fear unravels him.

Adrenaline ignites his flight mode, and he’s practically crawling up the stairs with his hands now, scampering to get away from whatever or whoever did not want him down in the basement.

You stayed where you were, watching—filming. 

The sound of footsteps pricked your ears from the empty room behind you, prompting you to turn around to pan the camera again, shakily, but you were met with nothing but the decaying cabin walls. 

Your mind chooses not to register that the front door to the cabin is wide open now, the forest having its own personal view into the cabin, the branches silently watching.   

Steve has climbed closer now, stilling halfway up, with his face drained of color, bracing his hand on the wall for balance.  He meets your eyes for some much-needed reassurance. The documentarian in him wants to look back, to see what might be glaring up at him from the bottom of the stairs, but his fear won’t let him.

Four steps, one hand holds the camera, your other one on the doorknob. 

Three steps, you begin to shift to the side, ready. He’s so close, he’s ready to leave, make it out, you can see the relief in his eyes to be free of that hole. 

You’re both quaking like brittle autumn leaves now, it feels like the blood in your veins might turn solid and crack, and the air from your lungs is coming out like smoke.  

You feel the need to pan the camera once more just in case, but Steve is so, so close, you decide to wait. 

Two steps and he is about to reach out for your hand. 

One step. 

You slam and seal the door shut, holding your weight against it, twisting it a certain way so that it locks. 

Steve’s breathless, you can hear it, he’s panting. 

However, he’s not standing beside you. 

The camera catches the ornate, brass doorknob as it twists and turns, capturing the sound of his heavy fist banging against the wood, and it’s vibrating into your palm as you press it there, feeding on your guilt. 

“Hey, open the door,” he tries the knob again, with more force this time. “What the fuck are you doing? I’m fucking locked in here!” He pounds his fist, desperation mounting.

“I’m begging you, open the door.” He tries to ram his shoulder through the frame, and it's a pointless move, but it does make the regret bloom fresh within your chest. 

"Let me out! Get me the fuck out of here! Don’t leave without me, please!” He sobs, his voice turning shrill.

You press your forehead against the door, angling the camera down so that it's filming the floor. The camera angle exposes a flicker of something, just a tiny glimpse of some type of black markings.

Steve stops his banging, he goes silent.

Summoning the last of your courage, you say once more, "Sorry, I'm—I..."

Another forceful kick lands on the wood, he’s had enough, the forceful boot punctuating Steve’s plea. "Open the goddamn door!"

You start to back up then, camera almost forgotten as it records the floor.  Through labored breaths, you are issuing your apologies so softly, but loud enough for the audio to capture.  

There’s another loud thud, and the camera vibrates from the impact.

It’s followed shortly by the sound of a sickening crack from beyond the basement door.  Steve’s cry is cut short by another blunt thud, and you wince away, squeezing your eyes shut.  

You flipped the light from the camera off, thinking you’d shut down the entire device. Out of the darkness, the audio picks up what sounds like a hundred hissing whispers, speaking of unintelligible things, muddled amongst feet shuffling all around you.  

In the background, the next set of ears to listen to the tape will be able to make out the hollow thuds of a body being dragged down the stairs.  

To you, in the present, the sound prompts you to turn away from the closed door, your cheeks wet with tears. Your heart is heavy, lips dry and cracked, but you know that there must be sacrifices.

It’s all in order to maintain the balance. 

You really did the best you could for Steve: you got it all on film, you kept your promise.

“I’m sorry,” you say, one last time, and you mean it.

 There’s a rustling, another thud, and then the camera spins around as if it were thrown.

And then, nothing but static.  

Epilogue 

The bodies of Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, and their companion were never recovered from the forest near Burkittsville.  Most of the things from their campsite were recovered, along with a video camera and film that was handed over to authorities.  Contrary to what was found on the tape, there was no physical evidence of foul play anywhere on the property.  

Some experts speculate that you had something to do with their disappearances, others believe you met the same fate as your two companions.  When authorities went to question your friends and family, they found out that your life was a blank slate before you met Steve on the college campus, and your only living relative was a grandmother who lived in a nursing home not far from Burkittsville.

The police went to question her, but unfortunately, she was in the grips of late-stage Alzheimer's. There were two photos of you in your grandmother’s room: one was from when you were a toddler.  In the other, you were maybe 7 or 8 years old, surrounded by trees in a forest, holding up some sort of stick doll made of twigs. If one were to have a closer look, they would spot an odd, isolated cabin amongst the woodland background.   

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thank you for reading!

reblogs are deeply cherished, and so are your thoughtful words, but please, please try not to share any spoilers in the comments or the Blair Witch will get cha🧡

------

[the-kr8tor]

He Beckons

Pairing: fae! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Tags: no use of Y/N, reader has a nickname, no specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is mentioned taller than her though), TW blood, CW injury, CW gore, TW death, CW body horror, CW arachnophobia.

The Fall Masterlist

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PART II >>> PART III

Your mind almost breaks trying to comprehend everything all at once. It all screams at you, at the same time the quiet deafens your ears.

The first thing you've noticed is the wind, or the lack of it. There's no leaves rustling in the wind, no howling from the harsh blow of it; like it's forbidden for the wind to come inside, it stills, forever lingering outside. The air is stale, everything around you seems to be stuck in time. Idle and waiting for something that will wake them again.

Is this a dream?

Slowly moving your head to look over your shoulder, frightened, knees threatening to give out from the fear of the unknown.

Not knowing what's behind you is much more terrifying than bracing yourself to be braver and just look.

With trepidation, you dare look behind.

You feel like lighting has struck you dead on. Feeling it curl from your fingertips up to your heaving chest. It stops where your heart is, for a second you feel it stop beating, blood coagulating inside, choking and killing your body. But your soul, your soul has never felt more alive. You feel it lifting away from you in glee, fingers reaching out to him in a way you couldn't control. Then it snaps back to you like a taut rubber band. Life returns to you in a second, eyes adjusting to the light, you take all of him in all his glory.

Him.

Human in all physicality yet primordial in nature. He takes your breath away, skin smooth, free from any imperfections, glistening in the light like polished copper. Standing tall, his hand beckons you over in a come hither gesture. Arms covered in fine webs, more beautiful than any jewel you've ever seen. You don't move, still as a rock. He tilts his head at your defiance.

His torso in full display, save for a singular vine placed horizontally on his chest, its leaves mirroring the ones clinging onto the estate's walls. Muscles prominent under the deep green of his cloak, collar reaching up to his neck, its edges stop right under his jawline. It's pinned together by a blood red spider frozen in time, holding it willingly just for him. His unusually tall stature sends shivers down your spine. He towers over you, height far too tall for a human to have.

Sauntering over to your frozen state, your eyes drift over to his legs, the entirety of his lower body is covered in tree bark. With every foot step, he leaves wild flowers in his wake. Small, colorful and something that's not of this world.

Your lungs seem to forget how to breathe with how he looms over you, casting a long shadow, blanketing your entire body. He faces you towards him with just his pinky atop your shoulder, it's enough to send electricity right through you.

"I asked you, it's rude not to answer" there's a deep rumble in his chest, almost like a purr after he notices you bravely staring deep into his eyes.

Gold swirls in his eyes like an ocean wave, you feel like drowning in its waters.

Eyes shifting down, you see him smirk, tiny vines and leaves dance under his skin. Moving and breathing like a living thing in itself. His face looks like it was chiseled by the Gods themselves, fine marble cut to perfection.

He takes your chin in between his fingers, lifting it slightly so you could look into his eyes once again. You see something dark shift in his stare, swallowing a lump in your throat, you feel his searing gaze on your neck as it bobs up and down. His scent enters your senses, he smells like morning dew over a hill after rain poured over it overnight. Flowers, you surmise, mixes in with the scent. From his touch to his narrowed gaze, it overwhelms your very being.

Not a dream.

You feel something stirring inside your gut instead of just fear. Excitement perhaps? Or is it your mind playing tricks? Whatever it is, it's pushing you towards him like a puppet on strings.

"Are you alive in there?" There's cotton in your mouth. "Do you even have a tongue?"

With a shaky breath, you speak. "I have a tongue"

Pointed ears perk up at the sound, you notice the chip on the shell of his right ear. Thorns piercing the skin decorate his ears.

"She speaks" He lets go of your skin, stepping back to take you in. Flicking his eyes back to your face, he smiles in satisfaction.

With measured steps, cloak dragging across the grass. His eyes never leave yours as he rounds over a long table full of sweets and wine inside intricate glass pitchers.

Was that always there?

Sitting down at the head of the table, a tall chair made of marble with moss and engraved spiders decorating it. The large weeping willow looms over the entire table, providing shade from the mysterious sunlight. He gestures for you to sit right next to him. Your knuckles tighten as you fight with yourself.

Will you oblige?

Better judgment wins this round, you gawp at him like an animal cornered by a hunter. Afraid that if you lift your gaze from him for a second, he'll appear right in front of you and devour you whole.

"Who are you?" Your question echoes in the glade, you feel a blade of grass kiss your leg.

"Y'know I could ask you that myself, you're the one who barged in, hm?" He leans on the table, hand placed on his cheek nonchalantly. "May I have your name?" The sentence whispers right into your ears.

A trick, You purse your lips from forming your name.

He clicks his tongue after a beat of your silence. "Fuckin' hell, you're not very good at talking, huh?" His words are weirdly human, sounding like someone you would have encountered anywhere.

"I'm not giving you my name" knitting your eyebrows together, you briefly flick your eyes over to a dilapidated arch in the far right corner. You're sure that's the exit from this dreamscape.

Smiling, webs form around his arm right in front of your eyes. Nails as dark as death and sharp as a knife scratches at his cheek.

You've had enough of his charade, you lunge at the arch, running as fast as you can. Barely making it, your body stands still right in front of it.

"What–?" Your feet feels like it's stuck in a rat trap, unable to keep running. Looking down with a gasp, you see sticky webs cling to your jeans, tightening around your ankle, threatening to cut off blood flow.

"Not what you think it is, love. Trust me you're better off here" he moves his legs over to the arm rest, his back lounging over to the other. His hand absentmindedly stirring at the tea cup on his lap.

You yelp when a web pinches your skin. "You can't keep me here" bravery helps enunciate your words.

"'m not tryin' to, you're free to go. Didn't invite you in, remember? A bit rude of you, innit?" He drinks loudly from his cup, watching your face contort from pain into anger.

"Give me your name and I'll tell you mine" you seethe.

He laughs loudly, a booming sound like thunder clapping. "Shit, you've got some cobblers on you, tell you what." He sits up, throwing the delicate tea cup over his shoulder, it bounces right on the grass with a thud. "I'll say mine, just because I like anger on you better than fear" he winks, tilting his head, placing his hand over his chest.

"Got a lot of names but I prefer Hobie the best." He points with his long finger at you still stuck on the ground. "Now, your turn"

"Release me first," you say through gritted teeth. "Hobie"

He exhales at the sound of your voice uttering his name, lashes fluttering close for a split second. "'m not the one doin' that, placed that there just in case people like you decide to run into that entrance. Just like I said before, not good for either of us"

Hobie waves his hand, and just like that, the webs dissolve at your feet, releasing you. He waits with a tap of his nails over the wooden table.

"My name's–" you stop yourself, what will happen if you actually tell him your name? Will you get stuck here? Breathing heavy, you spot clovers growing on the foot of his chair. You've got a better chance with a lie.

"Clover, name's Clover"

"Well, clever Clover." He stands up to his full height, all seven feet of him. A large spider crawls over his chest. Alarm bells start ringing in your head. "What are you doin' here?"

Slowly craning your neck up to meet his eyes, you stop breathing while his stare bores a hole right through you, like a God looking down at his acolyte.

"I'm looking for a dog" you say in a small voice, toes clenching inside your trainers. Previous bravery gone.

"You're not gonna find her here" tilting his head, he picks up a stray leaf that fell right on your shoulder. Hobie twirls it in-between his fingers, noticing your slightly shaking form. "Are you afraid?"

Your neck aches, muscles shaking under your head. "No"

A half lie in itself, you're afraid of the uncertainty, not of the being before you. There's a strange familiarity between you, something you can't quite name.

"That's the difference between you and me, I can't lie." Grumbling, he crushes the leaf in his hand. "Trust me, dog's not here" Hobie brushes his knuckles over to the smooth skin of your cheek.

You flinch back but you stand your ground. "Did you take her?"

"What would I do with that dog?" Narrowed eyes, he chuckles darkly.

Still toe to toe with the otherworldly being, you even out your breathing, "Where is she then?"

Hobie shrugs, "dunno" he turns around, making his way back to his seat. "Why don't you sit down and have a cup with me?" Tempting, the sweet fragrant smell of grapes beckons you over.

You scoff, ignoring the temptation. "No, I'm leaving" you walk towards the arch again.

Lighting fast, Hobie takes you by your arm, wind rushes past you with how quick he moved.

"Don't. Do. That." His voice booms like a gong signaling your own death. There's a storm raging behind his eyes. Yet your body and soul flutters in his hold.

He steals your breath, eyes angrily looking behind you, at the dilapidated arch, the most normal thing in the entire glade. The wind whispers past your ears, listen, girl.

Guiding you away, his hold on you tender yet stifling. Hobie sits you down on one of the chairs whilst you watch him closely, looking for a sign that he might start attacking you with his claws. Instead of striking you down while he has you in his grip, he folds his knee, kneeling before you. Cloak pooling around his feet, drowning in green. Now leveled with your gaze, Hobie's eyes soften, releasing his touch over you.

"Don't go over there, that's not the way out" his voice soft, concerned and full of fondness. Without a second thought, he takes your hands, cupping each one in his large ones, avoiding his sharp nails from scraping your palms. Weirdly enough, you let him.

The ache in them wanes for only a moment.

Your heart pounds under your ribcage. "I need to get out of here" leaning over, you stare deeply into his eyes, pleading. Perfect eyes swirl into brilliant brown, liquid gold mixing within the pools.

As if waking from a trance himself, Hobie lets your hands go quietly, only lingering over to your fingertips for a brief second. You feel the history under his calloused fingers. He stands up, looming over you once again. Gold glimmering in his sockets, mouth agape. Face full of hidden loneliness.

Wordlessly, he puts both his hands over to the chair's armrest, your breaths mixing together in harmony. Then he pushes the chair over, and like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, you fall.

Darkness once again envelopes you.

Back hitting the moist grass, you sit up by your elbows. The sun slowly setting, the heavens above cries as large droplets of rain fall harshly on your skin.

Gasping, you return to reality. "What the fuck?" Your voice merely a whisper against the loud pelting. Eyes fighting to stay open whilst water spray on your face, you find yourself back on the edges of the woods.

A thick mist covering it all, hiding behind the curtains as it draws back down over the woods.

Not a single tree or blade of grass can be seen from the outside. You only hope Nellie's alright inside.

Standing up from the wet soil, you groan, trying to get your foot out of the mud. You take a deep breath, hands shaking from what transpired. His face stamped permanently in your brain like a song you can't get rid of, repeating over and over again.

—

The rain knocks roughly against the windows, fogging up the glass as you sit on the alcove. A stark difference from the marble chair you were on just a few hours ago. The warm cup tethers you back to reality, scalding hot on your bandaged hands.

Watching over the woods, your brows knit together, trying to recall what just happened to you. It seems like you've found yourself in a folk story, a story where parents tell their children so they stay away from the dark woods. Either that or the isolation is getting to your head already. But you doubt it, you've always been alone, so called friends ignoring you once they get what they've wanted from you. Exes leave you high and dry just before anything could get serious enough. It's safe to say you're used to being alone, used to your voice being unused for months on end. But you can't help feeling like life has passed you by.

That's why you took this job, because you're naturally a solitary person; even though you don't admit that it gets lonely sometimes and the silence at the end of the day makes you weep for the life unlived. It gets worse with every passing birthday you've celebrated alone in your home, there's a longing, a hole in your heart that you can't find anything to fill it with. You thought this job would be it, if people can't provide it, why not a change in career, right? You thought if you did a good enough job, Mr. O'hara would hire you permanently. Well, that's down the drain until you find his dog, wherever Nellie is right now.

Once the rain stops and the ground solidifies, you'll make your way back to the edge of the woods to try and get her back home. Until then, you'll sleep and rest. She's just fine, she probably knows the woods better than anyone.

As the night drags on, your eyes grow heavy, back sliding down on the cushion to sleep. Folded in half, you succumb to the sandman's call. Drifting, you hear fabric moving behind you.

"Hi"

You flinch back from the whisper in your ear, their breath tickling the shell of it. Yelling in surprise as you glimpse someone running outside your room, blue cloth whizzes past the hallway in a flurry. Feet skittering, a giggle making your heart skip a beat in fear.

"H-hey! You're not supposed to be in here!" Your socked feet hit the icy floors, cold seeping inside the fluffy material. Running after the culprit, you almost slip and fall over the handrail, vertigo almost making you sick as you look over the first floor. Your head turns towards the sound of thudding feet on the spiral stairs.

Following the sound from above, you spot the intruder standing on the stair landing. Dark curls in a neat ponytail, staring blankly ahead.

Your breath hitches in your throat as she looks up. Her smile marred by blood coagulating inside her mouth, empty eye sockets gazing up. Gasping, you fall to your knees, hiding yourself from her petrifying gaze. The wood scratches at your already injured hands, blood seeping out from the gauze.

She giggles again, running out of the house, she yells excitedly, "come find me!"

Your palms turn clammy, goosebumps erupt over the once smooth skin. Her small voice echoing in your mind like a siren calling you over. Despite better judgment, you stand up from your position, running after her in an attempt to stop the incessant ringing in your ears.

Busting the doors wide open, wild wind enters the abode, pushing you back inside. Your eyes sting, fighting the stabbing air with your arm protecting your face.

With a blink she appears right in the middle of the open field, the tall grass dancing at her feet. Nonexistent eyes watching you. Different voices call out to you in whispers. Both warnings and temptations.

"Run away" "Please help" "Come here" "Enter" "don't take her!" "beware" "Be wary, be wary, be wary, be wary" "My baby!" "Where is he?" "Don't be like her" "Listen to the wind, girl" "over and over and over" "tis not a place for you" "Punished" "Worse things" "turn around" "let me in!"

"I'm right here"

They overlap with each other, screaming louder whilst you fight off nature. The girl raises her arms for you, veins blue, thorns protruding out of her skin, ichor once again drips down on the grass, staining the entire field. A sea of blood red sways wildly in the gust of wind.

Your feet are swallowed by mud, hindering you from reaching the girl. You continue on, treading through the muck. You have no idea why but your mind is telling you she begs for your help, and only you could provide it.

Struggling, legs aching, the thick sludge slowly swallowing your bottom half, now rising up to your thighs, it's cold and prickly on your skin.

"Hang on!" You scream through the noise. The pained howls of the dead get louder and louder as you try to reach her. The mud now up to your chest, crushing your lungs. "Almost there!"

Your fingertips graze her palms, sighing in relief, the soil now clinging to you like second skin. "I've got you!"

Just before you take a hold of her, she suddenly gets flinged back towards the woods, into the dark void while you listen to her screams.

"No!" Your cry is muffled by dirt choking you, tongue tasting the bitterness, iron filling your lungs. The ground devours you whole, shouts silenced. Your hand only remains over the soil that has hardened. Burying you alive, suffocating, fingers stiff, twitching for a minute before you join the dead.

You wake up gasping for air. Body almost falling off the alcove. Coughing, you can still taste the earth on your tongue.

On wobbly legs, vision tilting, heart pounding, you run towards the bathroom, your hip landing painfully on the door. You're sure it'll bruise.

You don't even bother turning the lights on, feeling for the sink, hand sliding along the cold walls, memory guiding you towards it, you don't waste time opening it when the cool metal hits your bandaged palms.

You guzzle water directly from the faucet, trying to get the disgusting taste out of your mouth. Coughing violently, you finally get rid of the lingering taste with a final spit. Splashing cold water on your sweaty face, the warm water sticking to your lashes, you blink awake.

"Fuck" you watch the water swirl around the drain inside the basin. Evening out your breathing, you look in the mirror.

Instead of pristine tiles, the woods appear behind you, with every blink, glowing eyes materialize, staring relentlessly at you in between trees. Something else watches you, an ominous presence hiding amongst the benevolent ones. A shadow reaches out, clawed hand encircling your neck.

With a quick movement, you flip the light switch open. You're back inside the opulent bathroom, body shaking in fear.

"Not real, not real" you tell yourself whilst blinking back tears. "Not real"

—

Your hand tightens around Nellie's food bowl filled with dog food, it's been a full day since you went outside, too anxious to even look out the window. Yet you stand on the large porch, staring daggers at the soil. Your dream still frightens you, seemed too real for your brain to just come up with it. You can still feel the sludge choking you and the girl's bloodstained hands calling you over.

With an uneasy step, you stand on the moist ground. Sniffing from the cold, you shake the bowl, calling out to Nellie. Roaming around the estate, careful not to go over the edge of the woods this time, you find yourself standing outside the family mausoleum. The large concrete doors wide open, inviting you in.

The single skylight allows sunlight to filter through, highlighting the farthest center tomb, its engraving almost illegible from the wear and tear of time. A carved rose lay on top of the marble, its stem snapped right in the middle. Twin inverted torches sit on either side, guarding the person in their eternal rest.

You can't look away, the headstone seems to get closer and closer to you the longer you observe.

"Fuck no" backing away, you shake your head. "Nellie! Come girl before I lose my goddamn mind!" Your voice is carried by the wind.

You have an urge to go to your car and drive home, alas you've signed a contract, leaving now will definitely get you sued.

The sun slowly sets in the horizon, still no sign of the border collie. The cold freezes your bones, breath creating clouds with every yell of Nellie's name. You sit on the steps of the porch, dejected, huffing while shaking Nellie's blue bowl.

"I'll never find that dog like this" going back inside, fighting a sneeze creeping up your nose. You drop her bowl haphazardly on the floor, tin clanking on the floor, spilling dog food.

The metal necklace lay untouched on the counter, you have an idea but you don't like it one bit.

With a shaky breath, swallowing your fear, you take the necklace, closing the clasp around your neck. "I'm stupid and I'm gonna die" opening the fridge, you take a carton of milk and a jar of honey. "Can't fucking believe I'm doing this. This is stupid and I'm talking to myself."

Even with your mind full of apprehension, you find yourself outside, feet tethering off the edge of the woods. Armed with a torch, spool of thread and a bag full of milk and honey, you venture forth into the growing dark.

"Nellie!" Frustrated, you yell.

The light from your torch searches the ground for any signs of Nellie. Eyes flitting back and forth from the ground to the tree where you've tied a red string to its low branches. You're not getting lost this time.

"Nellie–!" You suddenly get flinged back, landing hard on the grass. Hobie looks down at you with a look you can't decipher. "Oh shit"

"You shouldn't scream in the woods, love. Something else might find you first"

"Like you?" You aim your frustration at him, regretting it almost immediately.

"Good thing I was first then, hm? There are worse things in these woods than me." With a helping hand, he reaches down for you. "Well?"

With a grunt, you hold his hand, not missing the familiarity of his skin against yours. Your heart beats loudly at the contact. Tugging you up effortlessly, his hand lingers for a second as if savouring the connection.

"I need your help," noticing his smaller stature, still taller but more human than before, you don't mention it. "Please"

"Blunt as always" turning his back, he saunters over back to his chair. You spot daisies stitched on his cloak, noticeably not a part of the original design.

"Can you help me find her, please. I'm worried"

"Worried about her or worried that you'll get in trouble for losing her" he raises an eyebrow.

"Both, she's a good dog, she doesn't deserve to get lost in these woods. And not losing my job helps too" you bravely take a step forward, the edge of the long table bumps your bruise.

"She's not the one who's lost" Hobie stares at you intensely, you stand on opposite sides of the table, watching eachother, learning and acquainting with every twitch of muscle and exhale.

Hastily taking out your offerings, the carton of milk sloshing as you place it on the table, the jar of honey banging loudly on the wood.

"Will this be enough?"

You jump back ever so slightly when he laughs loudly. A thunder strike sounded out. Slapping his knee, doubling over in his chair.

"What?" Hobie wipes a tear, chuckling through his words. "Milk and honey, really? Where'd you learn that?"

"Stories" you stand confused, finger playing with your bandages.

"From what? The thirteenth century?"

"Maybe" you say in a small voice, humiliated by the otherworldly being laughing at your face. Mumbling out quietly, "you probably don't even know what year it is"

"Tell you what," Hobie leans forward on the table, arms crossed over the other, lips curled into a smile. "I'll help you, for a price of course"

"If you want my first born you'll be waiting for awhile"

"Not that" he shakes his head.

The anticipation thrills you, ears waiting for what he asks.

"Just a thank you from you is all I need"

You blink in surprise, a second after that, realization hits you. "Oh" you're already thinking of a way to deceive the deceiver.

"Deal?" Hobie tilts his head, waiting for your answer.

"Only if she comes back home" you lay the condition. "Alive and well"

"'course and she will" he sits up comfortably.

"Deal"

He hums in satisfaction, "Sleep and old Nellie will be back" with those words, Hobie waves his hand, taking you back on the estate grounds.

Landing on your chest, the ground greets you once again. You groan out in annoyance. "Will you stop doing that?!"

You swear the wind laughs at you.

—

You wake up with slobber all over your face. Nellie standing on your bed, tail wagging happily once your eyes open.

"Nellie! Holy shit!" You hug her neck, nuzzling her wet fur. "Oh you're so dirty! Where have you been, old girl?" Petting her, she barks in reply.

"Yeah? You okay?" You scan her for injuries, finding none, relief finally washes over you. "Guess I have to thank him now, huh?"

Nellie sticks out her tongue, tilting her head in question.

"You hungry? Come on!" You and Nellie race each other downstairs.

—

"Hobie? I'm here to hold up my end" you wander the woods, fingers looped around the thread. "Hello?"

You hear shambling in the distance, chains rattling, rotting flesh fills your nostrils.

"Augh" covering your nose with your jumper sleeve, you continue calling out for Hobie.

Long arms appear behind you, enveloping your entire body. Your scream gets cut off with his large hand over your mouth, nails digging into your skin, leaving indents.

You're back in his abode, eyes looking up at his furious glare towards the pained moans. His arm protectively around your waist, you can feel his tensed body behind you; the spider on his cloak gazes down upon you, legs twitching at the sight of you.

The sounds finally fade after a moment, Hobie takes his hand away from your lips, turning you to face him, you find an angry slash on his chest with an identical one on his palm.

Without thinking once again, you take his injured hand. "What happened?"

"Necklace, don't mind that." He takes his hand back to his side. "Didn't I tell you to stop yelling in the woods?"

You ignore his question "What was that?"

"Something worse than me" he brushes his knuckles over the indentations he left on your skin. "You came back" you don't flinch away.

"We had a deal. I'm here to hold my end"

"Everything comes back here eventually" his eyes glazed over, Hobie fixes your collar, fingers grazing on your neck, he doesn't mind the sting from the metal. He comes back to his usual self, taking a precise step back. "What do we say then?"

"I-" his eyes shine knowingly. "I appreciate the help, Hobie"

Chuckling, he shakes his head. "Clever as ever" you dance around each other like a well choreographed waltz.

"I am, aren't I?" You smile at your own ingenuity.

"You are." He copies your smile, hiding sadness behind it all. "Go home, Clover"

There's a sick longing in you. Biting and gnawing your insides, you have no idea if it's him doing this to you or there's something else making you feel this way.

"Will I see you again?" You blurt out, surprising yourself.

"Can't stop you, do what you want" Hobie once again turns his back to you. “You do know what I am, right?”

“Yes, you're an elf right?” you joke, earning a deep chuckle from him. Beaming at Hobie, satisfied with his reaction, you clear your throat. "Alright" you bid goodbye.

He looks over his shoulder, "Call my name in the woods and I'll send you back here" your heart soars at his comment. "Just don't yell it next time, not in that context anyway"

Hobie snaps his fingers just before you could reply back a quip. You land more softly this time. Eyes bright, looking up at the orange sky with a fond smile.

—

Once the dishes are cleaned, Nellie is fed and asleep, all surfaces dusted, doors locked, you lay on the soft bed, mind still reeling from the past events. The canopy swirls in your tired vision, making your eyes slowly shut close to slumber.

You dream of him that night, vision warbling, noises muffled like you're underwater. He looks at you with a youthful smile, head tilted, waiting, dying for you to answer back. Hobie looks almost the same, yet his eyes sparkle with anticipation, no longing underneath.

The air is warm and comfortable like a welcome embrace from a loved one, none of the biting cold that you're used to. Carnations and poppies dance without a care in the world.

Instead of the growing familiarity of the glade, you stand on a hill in the middle of the woods with him leaning on a large oak. Your long cotton skirt brushing along your legs, fingers clutching on the puff of your long sleeves, corset tight on your ribcage, his face stealing what little breath you have.

"I asked you, it is rude not to answer"

Your mouth moves on it's own, "My name is–"

A/N: sorry this update took so long 😔 ms rona was kicking my ass. Thank you for reading!

[pieroulette]

HIS LITTLE KITTEN

2022 ・ 16+ ・ 7k ・ oneshot — yandere + shock trope

— requested by anon!

warning: severe bullying, abuse, degradation, controlling and sadistic! jungwon, good boy! jungwon gone bad lmao, mild delusion, cursing, pulling hair, slapping, jungwon having a short temper, non-con kissing, jungwon ruining reader's belongings, public humiliation, cursing, cat & mouse game, um someone's head gonna get cut off - descriptive gore scene?

— I'm not a native speaker so I apologize for any grammar errors (I'm still learning!)

Slap!

A stinging pain engulfed your cheeks as you looked back up to meet those same eyes that hold so much innocence and kindness to it, eyes that made you fell into it's lovely depths and wishing nothing but to see more of it — and that was your first mistake, by now you'd wish you have never taken the first step; a dare within your friend group, a seemingly innocent dare to force yourself to gather a courage to walk straight to your crush; him.

Yang Jungwon.

The first time you've ever laid your eyes on him was on the day of your first day of school. The day where your dad had been promoted into a higher position in his job and so this immense luck landing it's grace on your family had you and your mom jumping in the living room with pure bliss after your dad breaks the news.

You've remembered it all very well; the pure happiness adorning your parent's face, the scent of the city and the mesmerising sight of the tall buildings you've never seen before for you grew up in the countryside your entire life, the day when you tried on your new school uniform — spinning around as you looked at yourself in the mirror, happy and contented, the day when you stepped in to your new high school and instantly made good friends, and the day you laid your eyes on him.

The class president, the smartest and the perfect ideal type of every girl; his feline eyes that somehow holds the enchanting melody of a siren, pulling you deeper into its deepest parts inside the ocean. His lush black hair flowing along the gentle breeze under the sunny blue sky while his face constantly switches to numerous kinds of expressions.

Confused, curious, shock, amazement, disbelief and many more you've grown to memorise as you watched him from the distance.

He was ethereal and a piece of canvas that you couldn't dare to lay your hands onto.

It continued on for many weeks till your friends caught on with your hidden but obvious feelings for the class president, and a not so bright but daring idea popped in their head.

You, to say the least, were very taken aback by the game your friends suggested.

Of course, you refused, shaking your head in complete refusal not wanting to embarrassed yourself and possibly stamping your entire life with such a bold and shameless name.

But your friends advice strikes your heart even deeper with the logic in your head, "Your class president won't always be there, better take the chance while it's still free and flying~"

And so, you did it as you proceeded with the dare.

You don't know how you got this sudden outburst of courage but yet, you still did it.

You remember how his feline-like eyes grows into cute boba ones as he takes in your confession. Abashed you were as you voiced out the dare you had with your friends; a small peck on his cheek would suffice the deal as your cheeks heated up with each words escaping from your mouth while your friends' giggles annihilates you like an arrow.

What he said next surprises you, "Sure, a small peck won't hurt anyways."

You were sure your eyeballs were about to pop out when you heard those words but nevertheless you regained your composure, biting your lips every now and often as you lifted yourself up in tiny tip toes to his height.

Taking a quick, chaste peck on his soft cheek. You muttered a thousand thank you while you bowed down for nth time, striding off to your friend with their joyous responses.

How foolish you were as you blushed in a complete mess, taking a one last quick look at him and you swore you almost choked on your saliva when his feline-like eyes were fixated on you and a tiny grin adorning his lips while his friends playfully pushed him.

Ah, was that it?! Have you somehow had pulled the strings within his heart?

Love, love, love — sweet kind of love that everyone dies for! What could anyone else want if not that kind of love?

You thought, that was it. When your eyes were met that soft pink letter laying inside your locker. The owner had his name written below the sweet paragraph, a sweet confession, a sweet epiphany.

— Yang Jungwon.

Your heart exploded in utter happiness, trying to suppress your wide grin with your clenched fists up to your lips.

But why?

What is this? Where's the love story you were hoping to experience in? The rainbows, the soft clouds, the pastel colours surrounding it — where was it?

The stinging burn on your face says otherwise and that same spine-chilling voice you once so much adore echoes inside the empty classroom.

"Have you always been such a slut behind my back? Even before you had met me?"

Why did your angel-like crush turn out to be such a horrible and an incarnate of devil himself?

You couldn't processed everything so quick as in a split second; you were pulled into those warm chests in a harsh approach, actually. Jungwon throws daggers into you as his wrath filled eyes softened and at once he crashed his lips into you for what seems like a hundredth time.

The kiss, his kiss, his lips that you ever so often gazed at and wonder how does it taste like?

Was it soft? Was it caring? Was it love?

Was it capable to even bring you a larger bliss within your heartstrings? To pull and tighten, to push and hold and to strengthen the love you had for this very boy?

Apparently, no.

It hurts you instead — like a handmade scarf that has been meticulously sewed with love all these time, only to be mercilessly torn apart by this thorned love.

The very first time he did that was back then when you came back from home together with your childhood best friend who came to visit you from the countryside, a short visit that is; and a boy that to be exact, and when Jungwon approaches you from the distance with a pair of yogurt in his hands — it was your foolish dumb mistake to miss that sour expression on his face.

You failed to realise that he didn't like it. He didn't like it even for a bit. In fact, it made him bitter. It ruin his supposedly good day. The pair of yogurt in his hands had been crushed into pieces, its contents staining his hands.

It was crystal clear that you two liked each other but due to personal reasons such as you didn't want to be in a relationship first considering you had a strict parents. Talk about your questionable approach that day. .

He respected that even more so with a gentle smile adorning his face and his feline-like eyes raising up in the slightest smiles.

He was so attentive and sweet to you, often listening to your wishes and never complaining. Love was written all over his pretty face as he watches you read a book out loud with the utmost affection, helping you with your homework as a wide big smile never leaving his cherry pink lips.

However that day . . .

That day was the first time you knew what he was capable of; he was pissed. Pushing you into your room harshly with an immense rage written all over his being, it was like he was controlling himself from releasing it on you and so he took it out on your belongings. Ripping your notebooks in pieces, your precious belongings into a dumb broken useless stuff as soon as he was done.

You were weeping, desperately begging for him to stop and when he did — you were taken aback, fear for the first time engulfed your being when he approached you with small steps.

"Fucking slut. That bastard, what was so good in him that you had to let him walk you home rather than me?!"

"You could've ask me. You could've called me. That piece of shit you had in your pocket, you got my number right so why? Why, why, why?"

"Answer me!"

This boy right in front of you and that boy you've often watched from afar was a complete different persona from each other.

And this wasn't the one you had fallen in love with.

"Fuck, kitten. You've become so brave, aren't you?"

From then on, your spring life bathed in soft pink and cherry blossoms has been replaced with a darker shade of petals — roses with thorns, sharp edges that mercilessly graced your once untainted skin with its claws and teeths.

A harsh pull on your hair made you stumble backwards in a swift speed, your butt hitting the floor with a loud thud, making you gasp and looking up to see that same boy you once adore but very much harboured a deep hatred now.

Jungwon's feline eyes hold the same emotion as he had that fateful day, annoyance and bitterness.

"Ah!" you gritted your teeth when his claws aggresively pulled a fistful of your hair to his nose — sniffing it like a mad dog.

"Your hair. . Did you got a new hair shampoo today?" His eyes softened for a bit and you hastily nodded not wanting to anger him further in this once again empty classroom in which most of the students had gone for the lunch break or to their respective clubs. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've bought a new one for you, you know? Shouldn't have troubled yourself to buy cheap ones. ."

His harsh grip on your hair loosens and instead turns into a caring pat, "They don't suit you."

In this very situation, Jungwon doesn't like it the slightest if you don't answer him because he demands you to agree with every single thing he says, obey him and submit yourself to him.

"I-I. .—"

"Oh c'mon, I haven't did anything yet and you're stuttering like a dumb bitch? Fuck, kitten. . Stop being so adorable will you?" Jungwon giggled as he brushed your hair in a caring gesture.

Those giggles that were once a sweet-like melody to your ears now only served as a horror bell ripping your ears apart.

"—But it's not so adorable walking around with someone behind my back. I thought you've learned your lesson?"

Silence.

The dark, eerie atmosphere and the unnerving silence engulfing the entire room had your body ran with goosebumps as the feline boy sighed, fixing his posture and dragging one of the desks to his side.

"Kitten," Jungwon brushed your hair with his fingers, patting your head ever so loving as he helped you get up on your feet — his other hand wrapped itself around your waist.

Helping himself sat on the desk, he pulled you between his legs, further closing the distance between you both as his arms grabbed you in either your side while you couldn't bear to look at him with those menacing and alluring eyes as always.

"You're fucking lucky I'm in a good mood today, or else I would've snap your ear in half considering I saw you with a particular student in the corridor."

Panic arises within your heart, spiraling into your pupils as your eyes widen. "N-no! Jungwon, it's not like what you t-thought! Ah!—"

His soft strokes on your hair suddenly digs its claws in your skin, pulling your face a bit close to him in a swift speed.

"Excuses. Haven't I told you to stop giving me dumb excuses if you still want to keep that sweet tongue of yours, kitten?"

You gulped nervously.

"I don't mind taking it since that would mean you won't have to scream everytime we play a game.."

Shaking your head in desperation as you pleaded with your eyes, you can't bear to get tortured by him again.

"Then beg. Show me how sorry you are."

You hesitated but if this is what it takes to escape his wrath then you have to.

On your knees to the floor as you wrapped your arm around his pants, "Jungwon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you! I just— I just—"

Silence, silence.

"Are you really sorry?"

You nodded in a frantic manner.

Another pure agony of silence ensues but eventually, Jungwon's eyes softens, "Sweet, sweet, kitten. That's exactly what I wanted from you." His hand wrapped itself around your neck making you leaned forward to him.

Once again, his lips devoured yours. The heated moment between the both of you contain so much romance and chemistry as you watched yourself and him in the mirror leaning against the wall.

If only, if only this was all a dream.

You were beyond lucky to have escaped his dangerous little games that day, as it was a rare occurrence for Jungwon to do so.

When he's in a good mood, soft and melodic humming emitting from him and aura brightening with each passing second — this boy was the one you're familiar with.

He was a self composed boy, calm as the water and familiar as the gentle sky — but the truth couldn't be any more uglier when his wrath overtook every inch of him as deep inside him; a sinister darkness spiraled inside the depths of his now rotten heart — which was he said, your very fault.

And when it did happened, all hell breaks loose. You could only pray to the deity above for him to go easy on you.

"Wear this skirt I bought for you, I think it would suit you alot, kitten."

"What's this shit? You could've ask for my help than from others, don't you know how fucking it pissed me off to see you begging around like a dumb slut?"

"(Name)! Look, here's a picture of a cat I took the other day."

"You look so damn adorable with all these scars, darling!"

It's that unpredictable emotions of his that switches on and off that scares you so much. You were lucky he only resorted to slapping you or choking you most of the time, and only then when you were being a brat to him — does the real torture starts;

Jungwon takes a great pleasure in torturing you in every way possible he could think of and everytime it would end with fresh deep scars with blood dripping from it, dark bruises all over your arm. He was sadistic but dramatically romantic at the same time.

Hell, hell it was.

He's the reincarnation of evil itself.

Another hell disguised in a normal day.

You could never escape this hellhole that has this demon lurking inside it, Yang Jungwon.

"Earth to (Name)?" A hand waves in front of your face in a hasty manner and you looked up only to be met with the gentle aura that exudes from this boy.

Sim Jake. The puppy-like boy of this school, with that gentle and polite manners of his that always have been the talk of the town just like Jungwon.

In fact he was among Jungwon friends. Those friends that you often saw around Jungwon during lunch break.

Jake, to say the least, was the one who showed support and cheer for you whenever he passed by. Ever since the day of that bold confession of yours, Jake would randomly appear and strike a short and brief conversation which consists of teasing you and telling bits about Jungwon, something he never fails to do so.

Kinda like your secret wingman.

You've always thought Jungwon was the only one different amongst his friends; kind-hearted and the caring type and that's why it surprises you that Jake was so easy to approach and talk to unlike the typical high school popular groups you often watch from TV shows, expecting them to be very mean and evil.

Evil.

Well, that was before you knew just how Jungwon really was and so you've became extremely wary around his friends, not wanting to form any close nor brief friendship with any of them.

Drowning in your thoughts, you missed Jake's question and his frowning expression were crystal clear that he wasn't letting it pass.

"(Name)!"

"O-oh?" stuttering as the noises of the cafeteria surrounding you brought you back to reality, and back to Jake. Gulping, you pulled your sleeves down to hide the purple bruises on your wrist but your abrupt gesture caught Jake's attention, making his eyes lingered on your covered wrist.

And yet, he just tilted his head — passing it off as a random habits of yours, "So, how's your relationship with Jungwon? Is it all good?"

The way he gleefully say it with that big wide smile splattered on his face made your stomach churned. Was he oblivious to what was happening to you and Jungwon?

"Um. . I guess so?"

"Pfft, that short response is all you got?"

You looked down to your tray of food, "Then what else do you want me to say, Jake?"

"Uhm, anything? Is this only the update you can give to us after that bold dare you did in front of all of us that day? C'mon now, (Name)." Jake whined. "Even Jungwon won't tell us anything about you."

You munched on your food, hoping nothing but for the conversation to end and for Jake to leave at once.

If Jungwon appears and sees you with another guy other than him, it won't end well. But it's not like you could spat out to Jake and tell him to get out of your sight since deep inside you, you still want to talk with him and laugh with him like you used to.

"Didn't it work though? God, have my sacrifices were all a waste, gone to the drain?" Jake pouted, grabbing your arm dramatically which instantly made you flinched in surprise.

"Huh? What's wrong?"

You swore your heart sank due to that abrupt close proximity and because of that, your mind was once again drowning in fear of him. Your head snapped around, looking for any signs of him but there was none and so a sigh of relief escapes your mouth.

"(Name), you're acting like there's a murderer on the loose hunting you down." Seemingly annoyed by your cold response, he just sat down next to you munching on his food — acting like a lost, mad puppy.

The sight made you wanna chuckle but his words made your heart sank for the nth time, he was spot on. If only, he knew what was happening all this time.

If only he knew, would he help you?

You're so fucking tired. You're tired of Jungwon and all the atrocities he put you in through. The comforting vibe this blonde-haired boy sitting next to you made you wanna break down and bawl in tears. You've been keeping it all this time and not even your parents were aware of it.

Jungwon was so good, so good at making you kneel before him and unknowingly letting him manipulate your emotions and it seems like he takes in a great amusement in doing that to you. So to the school, he made it look like you two were lovers but distant just so he can see who would dare to approach you.

Just so he can see who would be bold enough to put themselves right into the mouse trap he created.

And luckily for you, you've managed to avoid some students especially the male students who approached you because you don't want anything to happen to them.

But some were had their life ripped apart from them because of your fault, just like he said.

However, you can't take it anymore. You can't bear to live in this hellhole anymore.

"J-Jake? . ."

Jake scoffed as he munched his food but nonetheless answered, "Hmmm?"

"Can you help me?"

Your heart pounded deep inside your ribs to the point it hurts, you couldn't believe you did it.

You went back to the classroom and bumped into someone's chest, mumbling an apology so quick that you didn't realise it was him.

Your breath getting caught up in your throat, you took a few steps backwards but he immediately grabbed your hand pulling you closer to him in a harsh way.

What is it? Why is he mad again? Did I do something wrong? Please no, let it be not that reason!

Your mind ran a dozen thoughts as his grip on yours grew tighter making you whimper in pain, "J-Jungwon? Agh!"

"Shut up." Jungwon spat out, his face clearly irritated and bitter — you gasped, fear engulfing your body again as you realise those are the same expressions you've seen before. "Why are you talking with Jake, huh?"

"It— it's not what you think it is! W-we were just talking!" You pleaded not wanting to go through the same fate again.

"What could you two be possibly talking about? Do you think I'm fucking dumb to not realise that Jake often met you behind my back?"

"No! We didn't do anything! I swear, Jungwon please get that thoughts off your mind!"

"Fuck, what else do you want me to think? That my girlfriend is going around with my friend behind my back and doing whatever I—"

"You always say the same dumb shit!" You screamed and that made him taken aback. "You're fucking delusional! I've never even agreed to be your girlfriend and so even if we did anything, you don't have the right to control me like this! Why are you doing this to me?!"

Instant regret. Just why the fuck you did it?

Slap!

"Brat."

Slap!

"Seems like I didn't taught you enough, I see."

Slap!

You fell on the floor with a loud thud, cupping your face with both your hand that you were sure had gone deep red due to the repeated, painful slap. Your eyes had endless tears welling up inside it, gritting your teeth in an immense fear and agony.

Bending his height down to your level — his dainty fingers stroke the edges of your face, a complete contrast to what he did a few seconds ago but it didn't last long when he digged his nail deep into your skin, forcing your pathetic eyes to look at his deep ones.

"When was the last time I told you to quit doing that? Are you really trying to test my patience? Trying to see what I am even more capable of doing to you?"

"Is that it?"

You shook your head.

"Is that it?"

Again, you shook your head, tears dripping down your cheeks as your lips were pressed tight.

"IS THAT IT?!" you whimper at his sudden outburst, his veins popping in his neck as his face had bathed in red — again, you shook your head in desperation in hopes to appease his wrath.

"Then, honey?—" his voiced softened in a remarkable pace along with his eyes, "Where did you even get that bratty attitudes of yours? Did someone teach you? Tell me then, I'll give them a lesson in behalf of you."

You shook your head once again, shutting your eyes tight.

"Was it Jake?"

Panic surged inside your veins which instantly had you opened your tear filled eyes. "N-No! It's not him!"

Jungwon tilted his head at your sudden response, "Are you defending him?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You made another horrible mistake.

"Why. Are. You. Defending. That. Bastard?" Jungwon gritted his teeth.

"No! Jungwon! Please!"

Jungwon dragged you to the hallways of the school where all of the students were there, watching you drown in your embarrassment with snickers and giggles escaping their mouth.

No one was helping you here.

"See, everyone. This slut over here is betraying me, do you actually believe it?!"

Loud murmurs and gasps emits from all of them, one of the girls stepped forward with an exaggerated pout, "Then Jungwon-ah? Why can't you just leave this bitch?!"

"Right? She doesn't deserved you!"

"Just leave her! A bitch her like belongs to the street."

"Fuck right."

Your mind was bombarded with all the loud murmurs and insults thrown at you, like a knife stabbing all over your body on repeat — dragging it's tip and ripping your skin open. Your ears felt like it's gonna burst and bleed, you wanted to run, you wanted to escape.

But where?

Where?

Where?!

It felt like an endless eternity for you as you weep silently, weak and helpless as you could do nothing but let Jungwon walked you home, he brought you back to your home with that sickeningly sweet smile splattered on his face as he talked with your parents. Attending to your bruises and softly caressing it with the white towel and a bowl of water on the table.

"It is because I love you that's why I'm doing this." There it was once again, that gentle Jungwon you've always known. Why? Just what kind of bullshit is this? Why was he so kind and so evil at times? It almost makes you cry to your heart again.

"Then please stop doing this to me. ." You cried out, voice so small because inside you, a deep and big fear were lingering.

"What? This is for your own good. Haven't you gone being such a brat, I wouldn't have to go far to that extent." Jungwon raised his eyebrow. "Your bratty attitude fucking pissed me alot, y'know?"

"It's not like I intended to!" You whisper-yelled, a sudden courage burst inside your heart but still wary of your parents downstairs. And you don't know why you're even doing it. "

Jungwon was taken aback by your outburst but stayed silent and so you took it as a chance.

"Jungwon, you're fucking insane! You're insane! This is not normal and I don't know where the fuck your head is but this isn't it! What happened to you? What have happened to you? This isn't you!"

"I'm not m-me?" Jungwon giggled, letting out an amused scoff as he looked down and then back to meet your teary eyes again, "Darling! I think you're the one who's gone insane."

"No! It's not me! It's you! A sane person won't ever do all these bullshit! Yang Jungwon! Just leave me, I fucking beg you!"

Jungwon suddenly grabbed ahold of your jaw in an aggressive manner, forcing you to look at him as he leaned forward — your faces against each other just an inch closer.

"There, there," his other hand tucked in the strands of your hair behind your ear, "You don't know what you're saying so just fucking shut your mouth, love. I know you better than you know yourself."

"Just give it a little time, you'll get used to it. I know you will. Now let me see that pretty smile?" Jungwon's lips tugged up in the brightest smiles, a complete contrast to his lovesick feline eyes.

You were done. You can't bear this anymore, all of these extreme torment and abuse to your mental health. You don't care anymore, you have to run away from this city, away.

Away from him. Whatever it takes, you just have to escape from that boy you once ever so declared to love with your whole heart and gave your whole life to.

Your undying love for Jungwon has ceased to exist, it's painfully gone to ashes.

With the phone in your bruised hand, your being was shivering in fear as you called that one person you only trust right now.

Beep, beep.

Beep, beep.

"Hello? What's up, (Name)?" His voice almost made you bawl in tears due to how safe and comforting it was.

Cupping your mouth to prevent yourself from crying, you spoke up, "J-Jake. . P-please help me."

But why is it?

Just why?

One foot forward, and another.

Here he comes, here he comes.

Didn't you say you wanted to be with Jungwon? That you wanted to be remain by his side and never leave the town? To be the only one who's going to be by his side and show who truly likes him?

To remind you of your very words, the very words that came out from your lips in the very first place.

Here you are inside Jake's house, unsafe you were as you sat on his couch with him sitting on the other side just to make you feel as comfortable as you can.

You appreciated the gesture but really, the damage has been far too done.

"Are you sure you don't want to report this off to the police?"

"Fuck, Jake. Let's just get over it please?" You bit your lip as you frown deeply, unable to look at Jake's eyes. "He's— extremely manipulative a-and it's so fucking tiring to even try to get him back in his senses and whatever we do, he's insane and I just really, really don't want to see him anymore. Please, please. Just please bring me far away from this place, from him."

Jake felt there was nothing to say anymore after hearing your words and so he stood up walking towards you, crouching in front of you as he took your hands and pat it slowly.

"Don't worry, I'll do just that. Wherever you want to go, there we'll stay."

"W-we? What do you—"

"City life fucks my head sometimes too, just want to get a break too but of course I'll get a separate house, haha." Jake's smile widens and it comforted your heart instantly, it almost felt like the situation was never this serious and everything you've experienced before was all just a bad, bad dream; a nightmare you've been forced to live in.

Ring, ring!

"Oh— let me get this call first!" You nodded watching Jake walking over to the other room. And just like that, you took a deep breath sensing a great relief engulfing your body that you were atleast safe right now.

In Jake's house to stay in until everything has settled, there were tight security surrounding his house or mansion considering how wealthy his family is, it's really no wonder at this point. You've kinda felt a bit ashamed to asked for his help but there was really no choice, you've have to take the only opportunity laid in front of you to save yourself . . . From the devil himself.

It has been a few days since you've went to school and even return back to your home. School was one thing but even your so-called home was no longer your safe haven as even Jungwon often break into your room's window and the rest was history.

Everywhere you go, there he was.

A soft chime echoes from the door a few metres away from where you are; the spacious living room. Turning your head to the source of the sound, you pondered for awhile and just a whole good minute — one of the old maid who helped you just now came out, striding too the main door.

Somehow, something was making you uneasy.

Just why Jake's taking so long with the call he got?

Fiddling your fingers and peeling away the skin of the edges of your nails, you sighed dejectedly waiting in patience but just then you heard the maid's voice echoing through the hallway you've just came in through.

A desperate, weak voice that almost reminds you of yours when you were in Jungwon's presence, resembling your voice whenever he was playing his little games that you hated so much, that you grew to fear all this months being with him.

Cat and mouse.

The winner takes the prize.

And the roles was crystal clear, he has always been the cat and you've always been the mouse.

Always had been.

A pair of rubber shoes halted it steps just a few steps away from you — the table being the only object separating you from that person.

"Love, do you think ignoring me is such a good idea? I don't think so."

And speaking of the devil, there he was beside the old lady.

Your heart sank to it's core and your stomach churned as soon as your eyes met with his gaze filled with expressions you couldn't fathom but something you were sure rings the death bell to your life.

You couldn't stand up, your feet were stuck to the ground and your body froze — you wanted nothing but to run but why, why, why. .

Why can't you move? Stand up and run.

It was as if he had cast a spell on you; a poisonous one that pulls you towards him, those same feline eyes that helds a siren-like melody — a melody that sang an approaching bloodbath.

"(Name)—" You didn't even have to look up to see Jake as he too, were shocked to see the feline boy he had been avoiding all this time for your sake. "J-Jungwon? What brings you here? This is rare, y'know? Bro?"

"Why? Am I not allowed to visit?"

"No, of course not! It's just—"

"(Name)?"

Your eyes shoot open when his spine chilling voice called out for you, almost as if your body was acting out of your own will. "H-huh?"

Jungwon reached out his hand with a sweet smile on adorning his lips, "Let's go home. I prepared dinner for you and I'm sure the dishes are getting cold, so let's go?"

Lies. He's fucking lying.

You whimper silently as you pushed yourself back to the couch, "No. ."

Jake immediately went to you, covering you from Jungwon's view. "Just go home, Jungwon. She's not going back with you."

"Hm?"

"You heard me, she's not going home with you so just please—" Jake paused, struggling to find the right words to say, "W-we we'll just talk about this tomorrow, okay?"

Silence.

"Okay?" Jake repeated once again, waiting for Jungwon's response but only a low giggle escaped from his lips.

"Tomorrow? What are you talking about? Do you actually think you still got to live one more day after messing up my fucking plan?"

"J-Jungwon?"

Another scoff, "Honey, why do you keep seducing other bastards? Haven't I done enough for you? Haven't I taught you enough lesson?"

"Just stop it!" You yelled at him as you took a cover behind Jake.

"I hate it when they look at you, so fucking much . . ." Jungwon snapped his head to the old lady beside him and to her utmost fear, everything happens so fast that you and Jake couldn't processed what happen but froze to death.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

"You're all I ever think about, and you fucking dare to run away with someone who wasn't me?!" Jungwon screamed to the top of his lungs as his tight grip on the maid's hair grew tighter, her head breaking open with every fatal blow to the wall — deep red blood dripping from the wall to the furniture.

Run.

As soon as Jungwon was done with the utter mess he created, his head tilted to your direction — his eyes holding nothing but insanity.

"Come here, kitten. Maybe I would go easy on you if you just come over here and beg like I taught you."

Jake shielded you away from the monster's sight as he pushed you backwards, whispering, "Run. Just r-run."

You shook your head as tears formed in your eyes again, gripping Jake's shirt in hopes to pull him with you.

The sight in front of Jungwon made him more bitter, "Fuck, (Name). I don't know if I want to kiss you or kill you. But okay, go ahead and run. I'll catch up to you later. . Just make sure to hide very, very well."

"(Name)! Just go!" Jake pleaded, and your heels spun around taking you away from the both of them.

Why? Why did you even bother to run away from Jungwon in the first place?

You ran far ahead, far away from the monster — you were drowning in immense fear as you hid behind the rooms among the countless of rooms in the vast hallway.

The eerie silence between them was eating Jake alive, his body shivered on its own as he tried to stop it with his other hand.

This boy, this boy wasn't Jungwon.

"J-Just what had happened to you?" Jake cried out.

Jungwon's face remain expressionless but his eyes were holding a thousand words — words that screaming annoyance and bitterness.

"You should've known better. Flirting with what's mine? You must want to die so bad."

It couldn't be more creepier as the lights went off. Darkness engulfed everything leaving the entire mansion into a complete hell and the only thing providing light for you was the moon on the sky, it's bright form hiding behind the grey clouds outside the window.

Your chest rose and fell in hopes of trying to gain your breath back but it was all hopeless as you can't calm yourself down, your lungs only hurting with each passing second and your nails almost breaking as you digged it so deep into your legs.

"Please don't let him find me, please don't let him find me!" you prayed silently over and over again as you bury your face in your legs.

Blood dripping from the boy's arms as he took his time to search for you across the hallway filled with countless of doors on his either side. Sighing, he wiped his face over a thousand times somehow getting more and more irritated with each passing second. "Do you think if you ignore me. I would stop following you?"

Your face had gone pale, blood drained from your face when you heard his small voice from the distance, the walls and doors blocking the danger from you.

Another door got crashed with a loud kick.

"Do you think if you would get some help, I would back down and give up?"

A few, soft tsk emits from him.

"Or have you ever thought, if you hide somewhere, I'd never find you in this world?" Another door were kicked in, delivering a ticking death bell towards your direction as you curled your form even deeper in hopes to protect yourself from him.

"Oh no no no dear kitten!" His exaggerated voice made you whimper, there was no turning back — this was the beginning of his game. This was how he starts his game.

Jungwon claps so loud as he throw his head backwards, a series of giggles emitting from him, "Why? Are you scared?"

He doesn't care, if it's fun he will do it. That's why he was looking for you while his other hand lazily grips the dripping head within his claws. "Kitten~"

BAM!

"Are you here?!" a grim giggle soon follows one after another, your breath hitched in utter fear making you cupped your mouth from producing any more sound.

It was obvious by now that he purely enjoys the thrill of hunting you down like a prey waiting to be devoured.

"Let's see. ." His blood-stained fingers slides continuously through the wooden doors.

Silence.

The sound of the empty air and low chimes below the mansion were heard all over the space.

Your body froze when a rush footsteps stride over to to another door, just beside from where your door are. "You're here then?!"

Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out.

Your chest rose and fell in a countless times making your heart ache as just then—

BAM!

The entire lights surrounding in and out of the mansion flickers open, except the room you were in and the door to the room you were in bursts opened, revealing the boy tilting his head downwards to take a good look on your weak, petite crouching form on the corner of the room.

"Ah, found you. Kitten."

You felt a surge of goosebumps engulfed your entire body and without realising, you were already bawling in tears — your cries of agony filled the entire room.

Pain, pain, pain.

You knew pain was waiting for you.

If you were lucky enough, if he was lenient enough, you'd be away with some few scratches.

But if you weren't, you'd be sure that you wouldn't be walking away from this place with your legs still attached to yours because you remembered what he said when he brought you back home.

"I don't mind cutting your legs off just to keep you by my side."

But that wasn't the only thing that made your breathe caught in your throat, your cries of agony had stopped instantly when something he threw rolled over to your direction.

You watched it but not being able to comprehend what it was due to the darkness of the room and the light behind Jungwon blinding your view.

It rolls, rolls, and rolls until it halts before you.

Utter disgust.

A surge of scream from you emits in the air and your head threw downwards, vomiting everything from your stomach.

"J-Jake?" You bawl in tears, excruciating pain had you stood up in a frantic manner wanting nothing but to stay away from the dripping head on the floor.

What were you feeling?

Sadness? Anger? Pity? Regret? Guilt?

You couldn't fathom what it was as you keep letting out loud cries of agony, shutting your eyes tight but the gory image before you were etched deeply in your mind.

Jungwon wasn't at all pleased but let out a low chuckle anyways, "Ta-da! Like the gift?"

He slowly approaches you in a leisurely way, taking a good look at the pathetic head laying on the floor before giggling and kicking it off like a soccer ball.

The flesh organ hits the wall, furthering the damage on it's bruised face which results in its eyes popping out.

"Why don't you see it? Fuck. Take a good look at the present I made for you." Jungwon grabs ahold of your jaw, pushing your face to the head of the boy who once promised to look after you. "Look. Doesn't he look nice with all that?"

You cried. Cried and cried. You were incredibly tired but you still cried.

It was your fault, wasn't it?

A spine chilling and low giggle emits from him behind your back. "Yes, it's your fault."

"Haven't you tested my patience, nothing sort like this would've happen but you did, brat." He pushed you so hard towards the ground once again.

Helpless and weak, you didn't look up, only weeping in pure agony.

"Remember when you first did the dare back that day?" A soft giggle emits from him. His chest rose and fell as a satisfied grin adorned his face.

"At first, I was wondering why a girl like you would be so damn brave.. I was more than intrigued." A small pocket knife emerges from Jungwon's pockets, already stained with blood. "But when you told me you'd be by my side for the rest of our eternity, something snapped inside me y'know? When you told me that you'd remain with me even if no one else did, don't you realise just how fucking insane that is?"

Jungwon grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head up to meet his dark and lovesick gaze.

You whimper in utter fear as he stroked the cold tip of the knife on your lips then slowly sliding it down to your neck. "I'm so madly in love with you, kitten."

"You love me too, right?"

You nodded so fast, tears dripping to your cheek down to your jaw and that sight made Jungwon leaned forward, licking and tasting the tears staining your face.

"Now if you don't kiss me, I'll slit your fucking throat."

📣AUTHOR'S NOTE: bruh writing bout jungwon always made me so invested tf. Again, don't confused fiction w reality, this is only meant to satisfy the readers' imagination. I can't stop myself from adding my dose of my craziness in it 💀 I think I should also control myself from writing long fics for a request lmao. As always, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! They're the ultimate motivation fuel!

© sweetpieceofnightmarez, 2023 JAN 5.

-> ask blog: @llyzblog

[badbatchsprincess]

Heated ~ pt.23

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18 ~ Pt.19 ~ Pt.20 ~ Pt.21 ~ Pt.22

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake. 

Warnings: Angst, violence no gore

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The fresh water was warm and comforting.

Cleaning off five days of intense mating was already a laborious process, but now you had to avoid the hot water from aggravating your fresh bite wound.

You hadn’t smeared bacta on it yet, as you had requested to shower first despite Crosshair’s objections.

You hissed as the water began to wash away the dried blood patches gathered in your collarbones. You gently used a washcloth to massage away the grime, feeling satisfied when the water was no longer running red.

You continued washing the rest of your body until you were certain you were squeaky clean.

With your hair wrapped in a fluffy towel and a second towel around your middle, you scampered over to the big counter and mirror to grab the tube of bacta gel. Taking a small amount on your finger, you smeared it into the wound, feeling it start to tingle instantly as the skin knit back together.

Sensing a presence behind you, you looked up into the mirror to see Crosshair standing there, watching you tend to your wound. You smiled at him through the mirror, but he didn’t return the look. Instead, he seemed to be suppressing his true feelings, but you could sense the mortification through the bond. You felt your mood drop instantly.

He might not be saying it out loud, but you were beginning to think he didn’t want you… the sensation cut deep in your belly with anxiety.

You opened your mouth to speak, but he turned on his heel, leaving you alone to dress.

“Cross…” You sighed, tossing the towels aside to find a pair of clothes. Riffling through the pile of white sweaters and loose pants, you grabbed something and pulled on the underwear before yanking the sweater over your head. By the time you left the bathroom, your mate was nowhere to be seen.

You growled, wringing out your wet hair before heading for the door.

When you stepped out into the hall, you looked around for any sign of his direction.

Luckily, your neighbors seemed to understand your look of confusion and all jutted their chins in the direction he had taken off. With a silent nod of thanks, you took off down the hallway, charging after your elusive mate.

Grim gave you a tiny nod from his post at the base entrance, along with Bolts, who seemed a little shell-shocked himself. It was then that you looked around and realized a disturbing truth.

The entire base had been bombed.

All around you, alphas and omegas brandished fresh mating marks. With a sideways glance, you realized Bolts had been involved in this drug-induced sex craze as well. You trotted over to him and pointed to his neck. “You okay there, trooper?”

He looked up with an almost fawn-like gaze. “I don’t even understand what just happened.”

“Same thing that happened on Kashyyyk,” Grim replied. “Synthetic Rut Aid.”

“The whole base was drugged?” You asked the sniper. He nodded in confirmation. “Hit four days after seeing you. It was madness around here for a while. Too many fights. Medbay is full of injured.”

You cringed. “I thought it was just us.”

“Ahh,” Grim nodded. “That’s why Crosshair was in a mood.”

You huffed. “Yeah.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Ask me again after I talk to my mate.” It felt weird saying the last part.

“Well, it isn’t anyone’s fault.” Stunner walked up and inserted himself into the conversation, icing a black eye. “That stuff makes alphas lose their minds.”

“Seems like the admiral wanted pups as soon as possible,” Grim grumbled.

Anxiety suddenly swirled in your chest. You put a hand on the smooth wall, trying to calm your breathing.

The idea of pups—oh my gods. You silently prayed that Cross hadn’t gotten you pregnant now that your suppressors had been dissolved.

You hoped the Force would have mercy and not give you a pup in this awful place.

“Hey, you okay?” Grim asked, watching you try to calm down.

You shook your head. “I-I just need to find Cross.”

“He went to the range,” Stunner said, nodding in that direction.

You swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”

Without another word, you took off towards the training facility. You approached the training facility, taking a turn down the stairs before crossing the mats.

Crosshair’s new civilian stormtrooper garrison was in the middle of their combat training but stopped upon seeing your white-clad figure appear in the doorway. The first one you noticed was Wren. She immediately stood up, facing you directly. Her black hair was pulled up in a tight bun as sweat cascaded down her neck.

You stared her down, making the alpha bristle. It seemed her ego was still bruised from the scar you left on her backside, and the fact that you were an omega only added to her frustration.

The others stepped out of the way, parting so you could pass and enter the shooting range. Two guards remained out front, but upon seeing your fresh mark and collar, they too stepped aside to allow you to pass.

The blast door swished open, and you stepped inside to find your mate alone in one of the shooting stalls.

“I want to be alone, Y/N,” he said without turning around. Of course, you were the only one brave enough to disturb the disgruntled alpha.

“We weren’t the only ones,” you said as the blast doors whooshed closed behind you.

He didn’t answer.

“The entire base was hit with the rutting drug.”

He scoffed. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

You sighed. “Cross.”

You shuffled next to him as he raised the weapon, aiming it down the range. He unloaded on the target at an impossible distance away. Even after all this time, it was still impressive to you. He reloaded, pushed the clip back into the gun, and raised it again.

“It wasn’t either of our faults,” you tried to reason, but he lowered the weapon and looked at you sideways.

“You didn’t want this!” he snapped. “Your instincts did! I was supposed to be stronger! I’m supposed to protect you!” He shook his head, gripping his weapon. “Even from yourself… and now we’ve done something permanent that we can’t undo! This is a mistake, Y/N!”

You looked at him, seeing the self-hatred roll off him like a bad stench. His words hurt. You weren’t going to lie.

You shuffled on your feet. “I know we never talked about it, b-but… I—”

He looked at you with a raised brow, clearly annoyed with your nervous stuttering.

You took a deep breath and looked at him squarely. “I wanted you to do it.” You crossed your arms. “I wanted you to do it a long time ago. I wanted it after you all saved me from Mimban.” With a shake of your head, you turned to face the door to leave. “You have no reason to feel guilty. But I do.” You looked at him over your shoulder. “It’s obvious you don’t want this…” Clearly, the post-mating high had worn off; all you could feel through the bond was disgust.

Crosshair probably concluded that this was a mistake while you were in the shower.

He may have feelings for you, but it wasn’t enough to justify a mating bond.

You were overwhelmed with guilt, knowing he was probably going to hate you for binding the two of you together for eternity.

You walked outside, knowing he wasn’t going to follow you. You waited for the blast doors to shut before allowing the tears to fall silently.

Ignoring the stares from his squad members, you walked past them and made your way back to your apartment.

When you entered the common space, you noticed Wolffe leaning against the corridor wall, chatting with his men. They were obviously waiting for you to return but trying to play it off as casual.

Not really in the mood to talk to them, you tried to pass them with a weak smile, but Wolffe snagged your arm and pulled you over to them.

“Not so fast, little one,” he said with a smirk.

You huffed, wiping away the trails of moisture left by your tears. The others looked at you with sympathy. 

“I just want to be alone, Commander,” you said weakly, trying to prevent yourself from breaking down in front of them, but it was getting harder by the second.

“No, you need your pack,” he said, mussing your hair.

You sniffled, letting Stunner fix the wild strands a bit.

“What happened?” Bolts asked, snuggling his mate. He must have gotten over the initial shock by now and embraced the little Togruta. She looked just like Ahsoka and nearly made you start sobbing.

You took a deep breath, trying to fight back the emotion. “Crosshair says it was a mistake.” You touched your bandaged neck. “I know he didn’t want this. He… he didn’t do it the first time. I-I don’t know why I begged him to do it this time!” Now the tears were flowing freely, and Wolffe yanked you into his chest as you sobbed, “He wasn’t going to until the drug hit, and then I don’t know, I couldn’t help myself! I bit him, and then he bit me. I-I… kriff.” You let Wolffe rub your back, trying to comfort you.

You whimpered, “I just want Hunter… I want Hunter to make it all better!” You were dying for your other mate’s comfort. You wanted to be held and cared for, and it was eating you alive. You couldn’t even remember what they smelled like, which made you wail.

“Shhh,” Wolffe cooed. “You’re okay. I know…”

“I want my pack!” you cried.

Wolffe and the others casually opened the door to their dorm and dragged you inside so you could speak freely.

“I miss Rex, and Fives, and Kix, and Dogma, and Tup! And ahh kriff, I miss Jesse and Echo! I’ve missed Hardcase for so kriffing long and haven’t even been able to grieve him. Echo died and then came back to life! I miss my best friend, Ahsoka, and for kriff's sake, I miss Anakin!” You would have slumped to your knees if it weren’t for Wolffe and Stunner holding you up. You shook like a leaf as the gravity of this entire messed-up situation hit you. EVERYONE was GONE.

You lifted your head, eyes red-rimmed. “I don’t have anyone but the Batch. My family is all gone. I joined the war effort to get off Coruscant, and then I had a family again. They were taken from me… again.” You shook your head. “I can’t lose Crosshair. I can’t lose anyone anymore… but he doesn’t want me, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh, Y/N, you know that’s not true,” Wolffe said, shaking his head. “Crosshair tore apart the entire known universe searching for you.”

“Nearly this base too,” Stunner added.

You wailed harder, making the 104th boys cringe. Okay, maybe they didn’t know how to comfort omegas very well.

“Well, the Commander already offered you a spot in our ranks. You’ll always have a pack with us, Y/N,” Grim said, stepping forward and giving your head a little pat.

You sniffled, perking up. “Thank you.”

“The offer still stands. Just let me know, pretty girl,” Wolffe said, smiling and smoothing down your hair.

“Get your hands off my mate!”

Crosshair’s silvery voice boomed throughout the dorm.

You all spun around to find Crosshair storming inside with his signature scowl. Wolffe let you go, and you stood on wobbly legs, wiping your tear-stained cheeks as he approached. You were unsure if this was going to turn into another brawl.

Without a word, he wrapped his hand around your arm and guided you out of the 104th’s bunks.

“Cross…” you sighed.

“Just give me a second,” he pleaded, continuing to lead you back to your apartment.

You huffed and let him. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, guiding you back over to your messy nest. The combined scent of your mating was still strong among the textiles, making you shiver. He took your hands in his in a surprisingly sweet gesture and walked backward until he could climb back into the pile of blankets. He dragged you down with him and pulled you on top of him with a huff.

You braced yourself against his strong chest and looked down into his piercing gaze.

“You know I’m bad at words,” he said deadpan, “…and feelings.”

You nodded.

“Those words weren’t a true reflection of how I feel about you and about this,” he explained. You watched as he searched for the right words. “I-I was scared.”

Well, that’s not what you thought he was going to say… the mighty Crosshair, scared? You raised an eyebrow.

“I wanted you for so long. I pictured it a million times. It’s always been you, Y/N. You’ve overtaken every thought, every moment of my day. Even on the battlefield, I couldn’t wait to get back to you. Every damn mission, I would have taken on an entire garrison alone just to be with you again. Wrecker wasn’t the only one getting injured to get your attention.” He chuckled. “Your touch haunts me. Even if it was just to feel you stitch me back up… You made our squad a pack. You were the last piece we all needed. What I needed. I was scared that you would resent me.” He intertwined your fingers and brought them in front of the two of you. “I’m not Hunter… I’m not like my brothers. I never thought you’d want a mate like me, and when I saw what I did, I had never felt so much guilt in my entire life—”

He raised a finger to wipe away a tear that managed to escape your blinking eyes. You leaned forward and shushed him with a kiss. He was reluctant at first but then gave in and softened at your touch. When you pulled away, you gently stroked the side of his face where his tattoo lay.

“Never assume anything with me, mate,” you said, quirking the side of your mouth up. “I love you, Crosshair.” His eyes lit up, and his entire demeanor softened. You smiled, feeling the true conviction being sent through the bond.

You continued, “I don’t want anyone else besides you, Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker. You’re my pack. You’re my family, and I’m tired of losing family. I want to be free. I want to live somewhere green where we can all grow old. I want our pups to have a good, safe life. I want you… scars and all.”

The sniper was floored. 

His entire existence had been defined by being just a number with a singular purpose. Up until this moment, he had only dabbled in the world of the nat-borns. But looking at you now, with your sparkling eyes above him, he knew he too wanted more. He wanted the life you spoke of. He was finally ready to be more than just a soldier.

That's when he knew it was the right moment. “I love you, Y/N.”

You smiled from ear to ear. Suddenly, you didn’t feel so lonely. You felt loved, and you could sense the belonging in the bond as your heart soared. Collapsing on top of your mate, you both wrapped your arms around each other in a vice grip, holding one another close. It was something you both needed dearly.

“I can feel you through the bond,” he said, stroking your hair.

“What do you feel?” you whispered, massaging his scalp.

“…belonging,” he sighed, almost in relief. “Home.”

“Home,” you nodded in agreement.

---

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you didn’t care. Neither of you left that very comfortable spot in the nest, just enjoying each other’s presence.

Then you felt Crosshair shift under you. He rolled you both over so he could spoon you from behind, tugging you into his front and securing you with a strong arm. You nuzzled into him, enjoying the warmth on your back as you settled into the covers.

You broke the silence. “I wanted you to do it on Mimban.”

He chuckled. “And I thought it was just your heat making you act up.”

You smiled. “No. I liked the way you took charge and took care of me. I love your brothers, but they’re too cautious sometimes, even for their own good. I liked seeing that part of you. You’re a good alpha.”

He chuckled deeply, making the two of you vibrate. “They were too scared to hurt you, mesh’la.”

“It seems like forever ago.” You looked across the room at the setting sun over the lake.

“Mimban?” he asked.

“All of it,” you replied. “The war, the Republic…” and everyone.

“I know,” he whispered, rubbing a soothing palm over your belly. You purred into the touch, feeling soothed.

Then, when his hand traveled a little further down, it was like a bucket of ice water was dumped on you. He sat up, sensing your alarm.

He was about to speak when you rolled over to look at him. Your hands went to your belly, and your brows furrowed in worry. “D-do you think… do you think I’m pregnant?”

That was the first and only time you had been intimate without any protection. You had nearly forgotten about it, too absorbed in the whirlwind of the past day.

He shook his head. “No,” he said silently, placing a finger over his lips. “I sure hope so, baby.” His tone betrayed the look in his eyes. You were being monitored. You had almost slipped up. Kark.

He gave you the hand signal used during the war to tell you to “proceed with caution.”

You nodded and responded with the signal for “understood.”

He nodded and gestured toward the bathroom. “A pup of our own, yeah?”

You both got up and trotted into the bathroom, where Crosshair turned on the shower water along with the sinks. You both crowded into the furthest corner.

“You don’t remember?” he asked in a low whisper.

You shook your head, not understanding what he was asking.

“On the first day of your heat, I gave you a syringe of contraceptive.” He thumbed the spot on your arm, making you narrow your eyes.

“I d-don’t remember,” you replied.

“I knew what Tarkin wanted. He wanted you pupped after your heat. I knew I had to do something,” he explained.

“So I’m not pregnant?” you asked, subconsciously touching your belly.

He shook his head. “No, you’re protected.”

You were relieved, but then a tinge of sadness hit you. You couldn’t help but place a hesitant hand on your stomach. Crosshair noticed your movement immediately. He placed his hands on your shoulders before kneeling down in front of you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But I know how afraid you are of Tarkin taking our pup.” He put a hand on your belly, unable to help himself.

You felt your insides flutter at the firm warmth his sturdy hand provided.

You shook your head, trying to focus. “B-but… how?” You were trying to make sense of it all.

“I had help,” he whispered, thumbing the fabric over your belly. It seemed something about the topic of pups had awakened something in the sniper. He was fixated on your belly with uncanny focus.

You watched him, trying to think of who it could possibly be. Now that he mentioned it, you remembered him telling you about how he had gotten his chip removed. Along with the 104th, there had to be someone on the inside helping the clones. Someone who hated the Empire as much as the rest of you did.

Crosshair’s attention was suddenly snapped to the side. He stood abruptly and turned off the shower faucet.

A shallow rumble vibrated through the floors, shaking the apartment. You perked up, holding onto Crosshair’s arm. He waited for just a moment before ordering you to put on your shoes.

“What’s going on?” you asked, following him through the apartment until you were both standing in the living room. He looked outside at the inky black horizon overlooking the Nabooian lake.

There was a moment of eerie silence before a second loud bang shook the room violently. Crosshair grabbed onto you protectively as the crystal chandelier overhead jingled.

The blast door suddenly opened, and Bolts came running inside with an urgent expression. “The 99s are here. It’s happening.”

Your world came to a standstill for a second. Your mates… they found you… they’re here.

“C’mon,” Crosshair urged you out of your thoughts. You gripped his hand tightly as he followed after Bolts.

The residential sector was beginning to emerge from their rooms. The three of you hustled down the hallway, ignoring everyone’s curious glances. But you noticed it didn’t take long for the clones to fall back into their training instincts. They seemed to sense the danger as if it were a sixth sense.

Approaching the main corridor, you could hear the sound of blaster fire and screaming. The smell of plasma charges filled your nose as you got closer.

“Cross,” you whimpered, squeezing his hand a little tighter. He squeezed you back, giving you a bit of comfort before being thrown back into your GAR training.

“She’s over here!” A familiar voice made the hair stand up on your neck.

“Hunter,” you breathed.

“Hunter!” Crosshair yelled into the chaos. He knew his brother could hear him and that he’d be tracking the two of you.

From behind you, red blaster fire shot from your right as a battalion of stormtroopers emerged from the dust of the explosion, separating you from Hunter’s voice. From the left, a massive hole was blown into the side of the building, with men in unmarked plastoid armor flooding in. They returned fire with blue blaster bolts.

“Commander!” One of the stormtroopers ran up to Crosshair. “Rebels have infiltrated the base!” He handed Crosshair an extra blaster. “We have to stop them befo—”

Crosshair didn’t waste another second before blasting the trooper into the room behind him.

“Get as many weapons as possible. We need to find Hunter!” Crosshair told Bolts. “Where is Wolffe?”

Bolts shook his head. “Not sure, sir.”

“Well, there’s no way he doesn’t know what’s happening. I need to get her—”

A detonator went off, sending everyone in the vicinity flying backward in a plume of fire and shrapnel. The air was violently punched from your lungs as you felt yourself skidding along the white polished floors. 

You forced yourself to breathe with a heave. The ringing in your ears was nearly unbearable as you tried your hardest to regain your senses. 

“Kark.” You wheezed, forcing yourself to roll over onto all fours. You took another painful breath before looking up, trying to find Crosshair’s silver hair in the chaos. All around you was fire and smoke, but there was no sign of Cross. 

“I found the Ori’sol!” A muffled voice called out over the crackling of loose electrical wires. 

“She’s alive!” a woman’s voice followed, “Where is the Commander?” 

Suddenly, you were lifted off the ground by strong hands and into the arms of a strange Stormtrooper. A second trooper arrived, placing a flimsy oxygen mask over your face before jogging alongside the first trooper, getting further and further from the blast. 

“Cross!” You cried out, feeling your voice struggle to keep up. 

“Don’t worry, Ori’sol, we’ll find the Commander,” the medic said, trying to soothe you, but you weren’t feeling any calmer. In fact, the further these troopers carried you from the action, the more worried you became. You tried to scream, but you couldn’t seem to find your voice. They just didn’t understand. 

You pushed against the white plastoid armor, trying to get away, but the trooper held you tighter to prevent your squirming. Their jog came to a stop when they reached the medical sector. 

“Quickly, trooper, in here,” a frustratingly calm voice ordered. You turned your head to see a tall white alien, Nala Se, as the two troopers carried you inside the medical clinic. 

“They’re invading the entire base. We have to go back to help the others,” the medic told Nala Se. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the Ori’sol is alright,” she replied, guiding them to set you down on the medical table. The troopers hurried back outside into the chaos, leaving you alone with Nala Se. 

“Quick, Y/N,” she urged, removing the oxygen mask and handing you a data drive. 

You looked at her, confused. 

“That contains all the information about the clone troopers and your DNA replicants. I already informed your mate that I had your samples destroyed. Take this. It will help you and your mates.” 

You shook your head. “What?” 

“The secrets of cloning belonged to my people for thousands of years. Kamino is gone, and I will not let the Empire obtain such knowledge. They’ve unleashed enough terror on the galaxy.” 

You stared at her, dumbfounded. “You… you’re the helper?” 

She blinked at you. 

“You gave Cross the birth control?” 

She nodded. 

“You removed all the inhibitor chips?” 

She nodded. 

“Why?” 

She blinked. “The Empire is holding someone important to me hostage. I had to help them or they’d hurt her. But I did what I could to help the troopers. What Tarkin desires is unnatural.” 

You took a deep breath. “Then we need to go now.” 

“I cannot,” she sighed. 

“Why not?” 

“I can’t leave,” she said, turning back around. “I’ll make sure everything is destroyed here. You go find your mate, leave, and help the troopers.” 

You took the drive and clenched it tightly. With one last nod, you turned to leave the medical clinic. 

Leaving Nala Se behind, you ran down the corridor, jumping over debris and destruction. 

“Crosshair! Hunter!” You called out as you neared the battle zone. 

“Tiny!” You heard a familiar voice and spun around. 

Wolffe and Grim trotted up to you in their dirtied pajamas, both clutching stolen weapons. 

“Wolffe!” You ran over to them. 

“Where’s your mate?” he snarled, firing into the smoke to provide cover for both of you. 

“I got separated in the blast!” You showed him the data drive in your fist. “I have to get this out.” 

“What is it?” Grim asked, looking down the hallway and shooting a few stormtroopers in the back. 

“I don’t know. Nala Se said it would help you all and that it contains my cloning information.” 

“We need to find another way out of here. We’re not going to get through that door with all this heat,” Wolffe said. 

“I heard Hunter earlier, but the blaster fire separated us,” you said, clutching the drive. 

“Oh, your boys are here, alright,” Grim laughed. “Big guy blasted a hole through the front door.” 

Wrecker. 

“Rex is here too,” Wolffe said. “Brought the whole damn infantry.” 

Rex came? Wow, your message did get to them. You were suddenly filled with relief. You knew your boys would get you out of here. 

“We have to go find them!” you said, just as another bomb went off somewhere else in the base. 

“Residential is just up ahead. We could get back to the bunks, find who’s there, and then make a plan to get out of here,” Wolffe said. 

“Is that an order, Commander?” Grim asked, firing into the troopers. 

“Yes,” Wolffe decided. 

You both nodded and followed behind the Gen 1 clone. The smoke seemed much less frightening with two skilled soldiers leading the way. They expertly navigated through the chaos, guiding you in the right direction. Turning left, they entered the vacant residential hall. 

You couldn’t remember a time in the GAR when you were in direct line of fire. The only time you recalled was in Jabba the Hutt’s palace, and it was nothing like this. Two groups of trained soldiers on both sides, though it was becoming clear that the clone troopers were far superior. 

The three of you turned down the eerie, dark hallways with flashing emergency lights, seeing the lake through the large panoramic window. Outside, there was fire, smoke, and blaster fire in the tree line. It was an absolute siege. The sky was lined with TIE fighters and old repurposed Republic fighter jets like the ones Anakin and Obi-Wan used to fly.

The outside was glowing with blaster lights. 

“Move, trooper! They couldn’t have gone far,” a Reg’s voice echoed through the halls, causing Wolffe and Grim to halt and wait to see who was approaching.

Through the fog emerged Bolts, Stunner, a frightened group of omegas, and Crosshair.

“Y/N!” he called, rushing to you. He had shrapnel scratches all over his face but was otherwise uninjured. You sighed with relief and tucked into his chest.

“I couldn’t find you after the blast,” you said.

“We have to get her out of here,” Wolffe said. “She has important data that we need to get to Rex.”

Crosshair gave you a suspicious look, but you responded with a hand signal indicating you’d explain later.

“We can’t get through the main entrance,” Grim pointed out. “It’s too hot.”

“There is no other exit,” Bolts shook his head. “Unless Crosshair knows something we don’t.”

Crosshair shook his head. “They were careful to only give me information that couldn’t be used against them. I don’t know another exit that doesn’t drop us right into the center of the hive.”

A tense moment of silence followed, broken only by the blaring security alarms. Stunner pointed beyond your head. “There.”

You all looked at him.

“We can jump,” he said.

You whipped around, looking at the inky black lake below.

“We don’t know what’s down there!” you squeaked.

“It’s our only option, or we’ll be trapped here while Tarkin calls for backup,” Stunner reasoned. “It will only be a matter of time before the entire Imperial army is here.”

“What about Hunter and the others?” You looked up at Crosshair.

He remained silent, trying to evaluate all possible scenarios, none of which he liked.

“We don’t have much time,” Wolffe said, looking down at you. “It’s now or never.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Crosshair cut you off. “Let’s go.”

He raised his weapon and used the buttstock of the blaster to strike the glass. A small crack formed as the glass vibrated; it was reinforced.

The other clones grabbed their rifles to help. On a count of three, they all brought down their weapons, sending spiderweb cracks across the window.

“Back up!” Crosshair ordered. Everyone retreated as he raised his weapon and fired two plasma bolts, shattering the entire window. Aggressive winds pushed through the new opening, making you shiver. The wind whistled through the base, rushing past the hallways.

“Kark me,” you muttered, looking over the edge at the nearly four-story drop below. “Why do I keep ending up in situations where I have to swim?”

You heard Wolffe chuckle. “We gotcha, kid. No worries.”

“No worries?” you squeaked.

“C’mon, don’t think about it or you’ll freak yourself out,” Crosshair said, slinging his rifle around his body and tightening it, preparing to jump.

“Who’s first?” Bolts asked, looking a bit uncertain.

“Me and the lieutenant,” Wolffe said, glancing at Stunner, who nodded. They both stepped as far back as the hallway would allow. “We’ll let you know when we reach the bottom. Jump as far out as you can!”

Bolts gave Stunner a nod of confidence before they ran and launched themselves from the ledge. You and Crosshair watched as they plummeted into the darkness. You barely registered a white splash as they landed before looking up at your mate, unsure if you could do this. He sent calming energy through the bond, and you shivered.

“Look at me,” he said, placing his hand on your cheek. “Do that thing you did back on the transport.”

“What thing?” you whined.

“When you took over our skills,” he said.

“I’ve only done it in life-or-death situations!” you half-yelled.

He shrugged and looked around. “I think this would fall into that category.”

You huffed and closed your eyes. “I don’t know how it works!”

“Well, we don’t have much time,” he said, dragging you to the back wall as panic set in. 

“Crosshair, I really don’t think—”

He suddenly grabbed your hand, and it felt like being submerged in cold water again. You took a deep breath, feeling his calm settle over you. You were no longer afraid. In fact, you knew exactly how hard you’d have to push off the ledge and the form you’d need to make to ensure the water didn’t hurt on impact. You even had a basic understanding of water and swimming. Crosshair had been doing it his whole life on Kamino.

“Let’s go,” you breathed, focusing.

He gave you a nod and held tightly onto your hand.

“We’ll be right behind you!” Bolts and Grim prepared to jump as well. The other omegas in the corner watched with bated breath as you and Crosshair took off into a sprint, gaining as much speed as you could before using your back legs to push off the ledge with everything you had.

Flinging yourself into the darkness below, you watched as the water’s surface approached rapidly. Before you hit the water, you released Crosshair, crossed your arms over your chest, and made yourself as streamlined as possible. The moment your feet hit the water, you slid in, enveloped in icy cold.

Using Crosshair’s knowledge of swimming, you held your breath and began kicking upward, using your arms as leverage. The darkness made it hard to see the surface, but you kicked and kicked until you finally broke through.

With a deep breath, you blinked your eyes and looked around, seeing Crosshair swimming over to you. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” you replied, glancing up and realizing just how massive the base really was.

“We gotta keep moving! Wolffe is over there!” Crosshair pointed to the shoreline, where Wolffe and Stunner were dragging themselves out of the water.

You used your arms to steer and paddled alongside your mate, trying your best to keep breathing deeply despite the freezing water beating against you.

Behind you, you heard Bolts scream, followed by a loud splash and the shrill shriek of the omegas coming close behind.

You kept your eyes trained on Crosshair’s silvery hair as he paddled to shore and stood up to help you climb the large rocks leading to the empty beach.

“Do you know where we are?” Wolffe asked your mate as you wrung out your hair.

You bent down to help pull the other omegas from the water.

“Looks like it’s the south side of the compound,” Crosshair said, looking around to get his bearings. “I only entered and exited from the north side. But since the window we jumped from was in the lower residential area, that means we’re south.”

“How do we get to Rex and the 99s?” Stunner asked, shaking the water from his blaster and checking for damage.

“We gotta hike,” Wolffe said, looking at the mountain ahead.

“Are we even going to make it?” you said. “It’s too far. They’re never going to get us before the Imperial army arrives!”

Crosshair started to laugh.

You turned to face him, confused, as did everyone else.

He continued to laugh hysterically, making you start to freak out slightly.

Then he stopped and yelled, “Fuck!” The forest around you fell completely silent.

You all remained silent, watching your mate lose his composure.

“We’re going to be stranded here!” he continued, his silvery voice filled with rage. “The fucking Empire is going to find us, and everything Hunter and Rex did will have been for nothing! There’s no escape from these bastards! T-They’re everywhere…”

You shook your head and turned away, letting him continue his rant while you wandered down the beach.

Wolffe was going to follow you, but Grim stopped him with an outstretched arm. They watched you silently as you stepped into the darkness.

You continued forward, feeling the quiet surround you despite the bombings and shootings happening in the background. You walked down the beach, closing your eyes and following the faint feeling blossoming inside your chest. You could sense it, like a tapping on your sternum. Focusing deeply, you nurtured the sensation, feeling it expand until you realized who it was.

Opening your eyes, you took a deep breath, feeling the connection snap into place as if Hunter was able to see through your eyes. You couldn’t hear him, but you could feel his presence all around you.

“Hunter!” you breathed out.

Moments later, you felt the earth rumble as bright lights appeared above the mountain crest. A repurposed relic-era cargo vessel descended onto the beach.

You stood up, raising an arm to block out the bright lights as the ship opened its cargo hold.

“Are you Y/N?!” a Reg’s voice shouted from the deck.

“Yes!” you screamed back.

“Sergeant Hunter sent us!” he said. “Get in!”

You spun around, looking at the group. “C’mon!” You waved them over before heading for the cargo hatch.

“How did she do that?” Bolts asked, flabbergasted.

Crosshair leapt inside, extending his hand to help the others load in.

Once everyone was safely inside, you turned to the unfamiliar regs standing in the cargo hold.

“Sergeant, we have her and CT-9904. We’ll meet you back at base for a reunion at 0300 hours,” the Reg said, giving you and Crosshair a kind smile.

You felt Crosshair wrap his arms around you, and you turned to face him, resting your wet head against his damp chest and hearing his calming heartbeat.

“We did it,” he said, resting his chin on your head. You hummed, finally beginning to feel relief you hadn’t felt in a standard month.

“So who are you guys?” a Reg asked, wearing civilian clothing.

“Wolffe stepped forward. ‘104th, omegas being held captive, a 99 and his mate,’” he introduced everyone. “You?”

“212th Attack Battalion,” he replied. “Rex got us out not long ago. We’ve been working with him ever since.”

You perked up.

“General Kenobi’s battalion?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Commander Cody?” you asked, feeling hopeful.

“Alive and well, miss,” he smiled.

You sighed with relief.

“What’s your name?” Crosshair asked.

“Wooley.”

“Wait.” You released Crosshair to face him. “I know you.”

He looked you up and down skeptically before leaning back against the wall with a raised brow. “Medic on Ryloth. You ran with the 501st boys.”

“Yeah, you’re the field medic, right?” you asked.

He nodded. “Good memory, nat.”

You smiled.

Wolffe interrupted, “Not to ruin the reunion, but where are we going?”

Wooley nodded. “Rex has a base where he brings clones he rescues from the Empire. It’s invisible to the Imps, so we’re meeting back there once he picks up as many brothers as he can.”

“There’s more?” you asked.

“Ma’am, Captain Rex saved thousands of us,” Wooley said proudly. “And with your intel, hopefully every clone at that base.”

Holy kark.

You hadn’t realized the size of this operation. You thought only your mates would have shown with Rex in tow, but he managed to assemble an entire army to storm that base—all because of your information and a well-timed dirty chase through the woods. You stifled a laugh.

Lightly thumbing the holodrive in your hand, you looked to Crosshair, knowing that the weight of the Empire was finally beginning to lift from your shoulders.

He returned a similar look. He may be stoic, but you could see the hope in his eyes.

You were finally going to be free…

Comment if you know where they're taking Pip haha

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @substantial-exposure

@rains-on-kamino

@minimissmoo

@z-and-the-batboys

@aynavaano

@9902sgirl

@sideofhorny

@sxftiebee

@booksandtitts-blog

@subbing-for-clones

[valarie-is-lovely]

ADAM REQUEST. i've been thinking about what it would be like to spend holiday's with him. could you write about that ? like watching christmas movies , baking food , eating halloween treats together. stuff like that :)

Adam Stanheight — Holiday Headcannons

(Please don't steal my writing! Takes place before the bathroom trap. Reblogs and likes are encouraged ♡)

Warnings: romantic gestures - gore mention - cursing - Slight vomit mention - slight NSFW mention - Alcohol mention

SFW, GN romantic headcannons

HALLOWEEN

• Has always preferred Halloween over any holiday. Enjoys the scares and the stupid horror movies with the main characters that seem to have an IQ less than 10.

• Drags you to every thrift store in town to try and find anything Halloween related. A shirt with Ghostface on it? Bought. A tiny chain that says 'Childs Play?' Bought. A hat, one he knows he'll never wear, that has Micheal Myers with a knife? Bought. And he only acts like this in October.

• Likes snuggling up under the blankets with you just so you guys can watch horror movies, no matter how bad or good. He commentates on the stupidity of the characters in the movie you guys chose.

• Favorite horror villain is Michael Myers. He gets angry when people say that he's 'overrated.'

• Definitely perfers slasher films over others. Can't really do gore. Those movies make him pretty ill to the stomach. Just doesn't like seeing someone get sawed in half while their intestines fall out.

• Tries his best to decorate the apartment for Halloween, but can't do much since money is tight. He perfers when you make different cut out banners to hang on the walls or shit like that.

• Makes obnoxious comments during the movies you guys watch. Can't keep his mouth shut for a moment.

• At least once he'll have a nightmare during the month and then literally won't sleep for the rest of the night like a child. He gets angry when you try to comfort him, claiming that he 'doesn't need that bullshit.'

• On Halloween night, you two obviously dress up. He takes photoshoots of you guys in your outfits, you two are always matching, and then hangs them up in his darkroom every year. That night, you two eat a ton of Halloween candy, meaning one of you two end up vomiting from the amout of sugar you consumed.

CHRISTMAS

• Depsite trying his hardest, will never ever be able to bake Christmas cookies without your help. They'll always end up being some sort of burnt, black blob or so undercooked you can taste each raw ingredient.

• Favorite Christmas movie is The Santa Clause.

• Absolutely despises the cold. Yet, if you beg hard enough, he will go out in the snow with you and throw snowballs. After a snowball fight, he likes to tackle you to the ground and kiss you all over in a way to warm you up.

• Really likes hot chocolate. Will do anything you ask as long as he gets a mug full of hot chocolate after.

• Goes to the mall with you, if money isn't tight, and buys you two ugly Christmas sweaters to wear on Christmas morning.

• Not too good at gift giving. Maybe he'll throw some perfume / cologne into a box along with a cute little glass trinket of your favorite animal. Something small and stupid that means a lot.

• All he wants for Christmas is a box of cigarettes ♡

• Will watch Christmas movies with you, but probably won't pay much attention. As figured, he'd probably talk through the whole thing.

• Christmas morning, he wakes up around 9-10 A.M. and opens the gifts you two got each other. There's not a lot, but it's still special to him, even if he's not the gift kind of guy.

• If having a bad day, he'd perfer to stay inside with you. Maybe have a nice, hot bath with you with a little Christmas bath bomb. Something corny like that.

• After building gingerbread houses with you, he will slam his fist into his in order to break it so he can just lick the icing off of the gingerbread pieces.

EASTER

• Used to be utterly terrified of the Easter bunny when he wa younger.

• He honestly doesn't do much for this holiday other than hide little plastic eggs around the apartment for you to find.

(Sorry for the shortness of this one 😭)

VALENTINES DAY

• Showers you with affection all day.

• When you wake up in the morning, he's not in bed. A note lies on the bedside table that reads, 'Went out to get some groceries for us today. Your coffee is already made for you.' The note makes you aware that he will be the most loving guy he can be all day today.

• Leaves kisses all over your cheeks, neck, collarbone, etc. All day.

• Asks to shower alongside you. Nothing happens behind the shower curtain besides soft kisses and hugs as you two wash each other's bodies and hair.

• At around dinnertime, you guys sit in his living room, talking and cuddling while watching some dumb romance movie. He hands you a small book. Inside lies a bunch of photo collages between you two, thus being your Valentines gift.

• Takes you out to your favorite bar after dinner and gets you two drunk off your favorite alcohol.

• Once home, he brings you to bed, lathering you in kisses and soft love bites.

• (NSFW) Asks you if you two can have sex that night. If so, he makes sure it's all slow and sensual, unless suggested otherwise. Still, marking you as his with tiny kisses and hickies.

• Aftercare includes him holding your head against his chest and whispering how much he is in love with you. Gently plays with your hair, peppering kisses over your jaw and lips.

———

Hope this was good! Sorry for it not being too long. My first ever headcannon / fic on tumblr so I hope I did well. More requests would be appreciated. Ty for reading ♡

[vixstarria]

I’m enjoying your snippets. I guess I have a prompt, or more like a scene that made me giggle.

Imagine Tav is a paladin who took the oath of vengeance. Except she’s very new and bubbly. So after finding out Astarion is a vampire spawn and he was tortured by his master, she excitedly vows to personally make Cazador suffer in excruciating detail. Astarion’s like, “Uh…thanks?”

I can’t stop laughing at the thought of Astarion being protected by a small, bubbly paladin that’s vibrating with excitement to avenge Astarion. Like a bloodthirsty squirrel.

Ha! I love the idea. Thought I'd bring out the whole gang for this one though.

I'll stick this one under a cut for uhh... some lighthearted gore.

The tiny paladin stalked around the campfire, having worked herself up into a righteous fury. Short of 5 feet, she made up for her stature with sheer vigor.

"We'll tear out his tongue. Then we'll tie him up. Throw him somewhere with just his feet out in the sun, and wait for it to slowly burn and consume him, from the bottom up, inch by inch," she ranted.

Wyll grimaced and lowered his spoon back down into his bowl, before it reached his mouth, just as Astarion let out a delighted laugh.

"Simply wonderful, my dear! Are there any other miseries you'd like to bestow on him, before his eventual demise?"

"Hmm," Tav paused, briefly. "Lae'zel, are there any good githyanki torture methods you would suggest?"

"I am not aware of anything specific to vampires," Lae'zel mulled over Tav's question. "But the regular routines should work on an incapacitated vampire just as well. His natural regeneration will only aid in making it last longer."

"Would that really work?" Shadowheart asked Gale in between sips of her wine. "Leaving a partial shield over a vampire and spot-burning him?"

"That is an excellent question," said Gale. "In theory, it depends on whether it is the literal energy of and exposure to the sun that causes the damage, or the more ambivalent idea of what the sun represents - goodness, righteousness, divinity - which may only need to touch a small part of an evil entity such as a vampire, to set the entire creature ablaze. I don't know the answer, but I could write to some of my colleagues, who have 'shed light' onto vampires, so to speak. Come to think of it-"

"Are you going to eat that?" Karlach pointed at Wyll's untouched stew.

"You're welcome to it if you like, I've lost my appetite," he said, handing her the bowl.

"Once his legs are gone, we'll burn his arms off in the sun, one by one," Tav continued her laps around the fire.

"You are vengeance incarnate, darling," Astarion spurred her on.

"We could chop off the limbs once they got too burnt and crusty and lost feeling," Karlach offered, talking with her mouth full. "He can regenerate but not regrow, right?"

"A good technique when combined with flaying extremities, as well," Lae'zel nodded approvingly.

"Yes!" Tav exclaimed, shaking a small but mighty fist at the sky. "We'll carve him up! Like a turkey."

"Now, call me an old fashioned romantic," Wyll interrupted. "But can't we just kill him in a civilized manner and then piss on his grave like normal people..?"

"All in due course, my friend," said Tav, before turning to Astarion. "Do you think Cazador would find this experience more horrifying with or without his eyes?"

A warm, fuzzy feeling was threatening to overtake Astarion.

So this is what friendship is, he thought.

[xxnashiraxx]

With Stars to Fill My Dream (1 & 2)

IT'S FINALLY TIME!!!!! I have taken a deep breath, poured over these two damn chapters all day, and I'm finally ready to upload!! 🖤 Special thanks to all the hype I got from this gang- I love them so much 🖤 Thank you for hyping me every step of the way!

@preciouslittlebhaalbae @inkymoonbunny @verbenaa @justabiteofspite @elinorbard @ladyduellist @bhaalsdeepbat @sashitf

Please enjoy Ofelia, my idiotic Earthling Tav/OC, trying to survive and make friends in Faerun after getting kidnapped from her realm! This is a fun, sometimes dark and angsty isekai adventure- what would happen if BG3 wasn't a thing on Earth, or D&D? How would you fare?

Opening of Chapter 1: Chasing Rabbits under the cut!

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count for Both 1 & 2 Combined: 12,093

When logic and proportion,

Have fallen sloppy dead.

And the white knight is talking backwards

And the red queen’s off with her head

Remember what the dormouse said

Feed your head…

***

An eerie quiet moves through the streets, cars fewer and farther between than normal. An unsettling feeling crawls over Ofelia’s skin and she shrugs her coat closer to her body, warding the night air off as she turns down a familiar alley. Her tiny apartment window glints at the end of the shadowed corridor and she grins, reaching into her pack to step back into her rollerblades. This last stretch has always been the most fun, and perhaps it’s the trepidation hanging in the night, but a smile and some exhilaration seem like the perfect medicine. She just has to get home, kick start her weekend with a cocktail and a good book, and tomorrow she’ll finally be able to adopt the cat of her dreams.

With the last lace tied, she secures her skirt and hunches over, preparing to rocket down the alleyway. She feels her muscles tense, sets her jaw- prepares to beat her personal best. She can taste the moisture in the air and the warning of the impending storm approaching, feels it in her bones as she mentally counts down.

3… 2… 1…

She never moves. Something flickers out of the corner of her eye, large and black and hulking in the night. It roils and undulates in the sky above the city, sweeping over the buildings like a dark tidal wave. She doesn’t have time to scream when the mass careens towards her, doesn’t have time to raise her arms in defense of a hit that never comes. She’s only greeted with total black as her world spins out of control and she falls unconscious.

[oleanderandwatermelons]

FOLKS! Do you want to help someone in need? Do you want to get a nice ficlet in exchange?

I, @saint-oleander (here on Ao3)*, am here for you.

Due to a constant increase of requests for help and my current lack of funds, I have decided that for any donation to a fundraiser during the month of September* I will write a ficlet to whomever may request it.

*Sideblog made for management reasons

**Possible extension to be determined based on the influx of requests + whatever happens irl. I'd rather not disappoint anyone and my current work situation offers no assurances (or a decent salary. Sigh.)

To do so, hit my inbox with a proof of your donation and this tiny form:

Fandom: Character(s): Prompt (+ optional backup prompt): Ao3 name*: Link to the campaign**:

*Optional, but since I will archive them on ao3 too, if you want them gifted over there put your user here so I can do that

**Let's promote the campaign of your choice!

RULES:

donation must have been made between September 1st and 30th

proof must have a visible date and campaign name (MIND TO OBSCURE PERSONAL INFORMATION!)

I WON'T WRITE: gore, explicit sexual scenes, mafia!aus, ABO-aus

TIERS (donation + corresponding minimum word count):

5$ - 100 words 10$ - 250 words 15$ - 500 words 25$ - 1000 words

Masterposts of fundraisers I shared on my main blog if you need suggestions (but you can donate to any Palestinian campaign):

PART ONE 🍉 PART TWO 🍉 PART THREE 🍉 PART FOUR

Other campaigns will also be shared on this blog under the fundraiser tag

Share, donate and request away! 🍉🍉🍉

FANDOMS, below the cut:

*List in alphabetical order and subject to updates

911 abc

Bartimaeus Sequence

Good Omens

Haikyuu!! (mainly Karasuno and their orbit)

Koe no Katachi (manga and movie)

Koisenu Futari

Lockwood and Co.

MCU (I stopped watching at Endgame so do not stray further)

One Piece (manga, live action)

Ranma 1/2

Spy x Family

The Hobbit trilogy

The Lord of the Rings

The Umbrella Academy (except for season 4)

The Witcher (Netflix series)

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Ghosts of Our Pasts: 6

DP x DC crossover

Damian Wayne and Danny Fenton Siblings AU

Masterpost Next

WARNING: Light gore at the beginning of this chapter!! (I didn't get verydescriptive, but it includes blood and broken glass. If that’s not for you, skip the first 2 paragraphs.)

Trempling fingers tore at the vial, desperately trying to break the seal, but the glass was slick with crimson and he found no purchase. Each attempt was shakier than the last. Even prying the lid with his teeth made little difference when his hands couldn't grip the thing. He doesn't know if he made a decision or if he dropped it, but half the vials contents mix on the ground with broken glass and blood. The vibrant glowing green makes the blood look black in comparison, sharp little stars glitter in the morbid nebula.

Half the vial is still in his hand. It's edges are jagged teeth cutting into his hand, healing then cutting, then healing, and repeating. It should probably hurt more.

Danyal's thoughts are sluggish. It takes another minute to realize the new problem, that the wound is on his back under several protective layers. Even if he could reach it, he wouldn't be able to pour the Lazarus water accurately, he couldn't even see the wound. If he set down the vial to get a better feel for it, would he remember to pick it back up?

It only hurts the living, it is good for the dead and dying. He didn't remember who'd explained that, but it was all he could recall about the waters, and he didn’t exactly have many options.

He tipped the vial to his lips and drank. This he did feel.

---

Danny gasped awake gripping his hands over his chest where his core hid. The shard of ice felt sharper than normal, pointed and aimed at his heart. Danny felt cold.

When he'd first come to the Fenton's, he'd been convinced that Damian's blade had broken under his skin. He'd been sure that the blades tip remained lodged in the back of his chest, just under his heart. He remembered saying it felt cold. His theory had been disproven after an X-ray after falling off the roof. (he'd jumped from it to the Assult Vehicle. He'd been fine, but the other parents had seen him roll and insisted on the hospital.) Jazz had called it trauma, and well, it was. So he'd taken her advice on it.

Danny couldn’t tell whether it had always been there or if this was the usual mind over matter ghost nonsense, but now his core was being pointy, so that was great! Definitely not like the last time his core had felt weird and he'd almost frozed alive!(dead?).

He needed some air. He threw on some clothes and didn't bother with doors.

The thing was he wasn't actually sure if he died the first time. It didn't really matter, it was still trauma, but if his core had come from that, and the portal had just... what? Supercharged him? Both events had fundamentally changed him, but he'd gone so long believing he hadn’t died at Damian's hand. He'd survived everything with the League just to die to his own stupidity.

The sun had already set, but smoggy clouds and light pollution blocked the stars. He wasn’t surprised, but it would've been nice to fill a bit of obsession after the nightmare... actually...

He sat on the ledge and focused on chaneling his excess energy to Gotham. It was something he did often for Amity, the smaller city would take that energy and stitch back together any damage from a fight. But there was a lot of ectoplasm in Amity Park. Danny didn’t know how malleable the physical aspects were for her.

The energy was pulled away as she accepted, pulling a thread of his consciousness with it. She showed him a plant on a windowsill, stubbornly blooming despite the lack of sun. She showed him a tiny crack in a support beam mended, a touch of poison in the water flowed away from the supply of drinking water, and more tiny things that would mean all the difference for a few people. But she kept showing him things, too much all at once and he had to rip his mind back because he was in human form and could not handle that much like this.

She withdrew sheepishly, and he got it. Most older spirits did not know how much a human brain could handle.

Something else drew his attention and he turned sharply.

"Oh... Hi,"

"Are you alright?" Batman asked, still a careful distance away.

"Yeah...?"

"Your eyes are glowing."

"Oh..." Danny closed his eyes for a second, opening them again when he was sure they'd look human. He wasn’t really surprised. "That uh... happens, sometimes..."

"You have good control over it,"

"Uh, I guess? I can't always tell when I'm doing it..."

"It's not pit rage then?"

"Not... usually," Danny wasn’t entirely sure what pit rage was. Not that anyone else in the League knew any better, but he didn’t know if something he had a name for might be called pit rage by someone who didn’t know.

"Hm,"

"It's a weird conglomerate of side effects." Danny half explained, looking out over the other buildings and and a parking garage. The Bat crouched on the ledge a few feet away from him and Danny couldn’t help but laugh. "This is ridiculous,"

"Oh?"

"That my first time meeting you is on a rooftop and you're in a bat costume."

"You could have come to the manor," It wasn’t a reprimand, it was an offer, it was a question.

"Yeah, I think the fact that I'm not back to being dead is pretty good evidence your not with the Assassins."

"No. I haven't been for a long time."

Danny took a deep breath. He wasn't going to dwell on other versions of this story. "Cool."

There was a few moments of silence, a bit awkward, but nothing compared to the awkward silence in the alley a few hours prior.

"How's your trip going?" Batman asked.

"Already looked me up, huh?" Danny joked.

"We needed to be sure—"

"I know, I know, my sudden appearance was super sus."

Batman sighed the sigh of someone who has heard far too many Among Us jokes in his life.

Danny grinned, "Pretty good so far, nobody attacked the museum, and we've almost worn down Lancer about the whole 'we must stay in one group' thing."

"Staying in one group is wise."

"We're Amity Parkers," Danny countered.

"You're from a town with a communication blackout."

"A 'magical' communication blackout." Danny finger quoted the word 'magical'. "I don't actually know what you can access. Only someone who's been to Amity can find it."

"Hm,"

"Unless, you go through Elmerton." Danny advised. He was taking a chance on this, he decided. Even if he was wrong about trusting this part of his family, Amity's judgement wouldn't be biased and she wouldn't let them see anything they shouldn't. And of course, in Amity, Phantom could get involved if need be.

"Elmerton."

"Yep, the town a few miles to the east. Our only tether back to this plain of existence." Danny said dramaticly, it wasn’t that bad. He could almost hear him thinking, so he didn't expect the next question.

"Do you like it there?"

"I- yeah, I do." It was his haunt, most of its weirdness was subconsciously his fault. "Ever been to a liminal space?"

"I've been to a few other dimensions,"

Danny snorted, "Mood,"

That got him a weird look, it was his own fault really.

"I'm not talking about anything related to my death." Danny warned. "Sorry."

"That's a reasonable boundary," Bio-dad in a bat suit nodded, but also sounded like he was physically restraining himself from asking. It also sounded like something a therapist was attempting to drill into him, Danny could relate, if it were true.

"Liminal spaces are kinda hard to explain if you haven't been in one. Amity has a lot of ghosts... I mean that literally. Our neighbor died of old age, but she still reads the newspaper on her porch every morning."

"That's..." Danny could actually taste the suprise. It was kinda tangy? Danny really hoped the emotions having a taste thing was just because of low ambient ectoplasm; he really did not want this as a new power.

"The most normal thing about Amity," Danny finished the sentence for him. "Don't go into it trying to makes sense of it or you might melt your brain or something."

"Please tell me that's a joke."

Danny shrugged, then decided it was his turn for questions. He pulled Damian's list out of his pocket. "So, can I get you to explain who all of these people are?"

-

Bruce returned to the cave feeling significantly better than when he'd left it. Danny had been open, for the most part, but clear on things he wasn't willing to discuss. Despite his children's earlier interaction, he'd seemed willing, even eager to interact with the rest of the family.

Damian was pacing in the same way he'd been when Bruce had left. He'd said something along the lines of 'I do not wish him to feel pressured by my presence' when Bruce had asked if he'd come with him. He immediately noticed when Bruce stepped into the room and made a beeline for him.

"We're going to show him around the rooftops tomorrow night. I asked, you're invited." Bruce told him.

-

-

-

Next up! A brief break from the heavy stuff, let’s drop in for some Amity Parker’s vacationing in Gotham! (If you have prompts, I beg you!!!)

-

Notes:

If you're wondering: why did he come has Batman? That's because it would be very weird for Bruce Wayne to talk alone with a single seemingly random kid on their senior trip.

Batman talking with a kid sitting on the edge of a multi-story drop? Good! We were feeling worried about that kid!

Also B was just dropping by to check, and lo and behold! His son is chillin on the roof like any self-respecting bird does.

Any future Bruce POV's are gonna be just as short as this one, because I tried writing the interaction from his pov and it caused me pain! Shout out to everyone who does that regularly.

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